Mist and Vapor
by cecelle
Summary: After the war is over, Severus is left humiliated, an outcast in the wizarding world. And for him, the fight isn't over yet. But this time, he doesn't have to fight alone. 3 x Multifaceted Award Nominee. Now complete.
1. Free At Last

_A/N: _This story is now AU - canon-compatible up to OoTP. If a story that portrays Snape in a positive light bothers you, this will not be the story for you. Personally, I am firmly convinced that he will be vindicated in book 7.

This story is now complete. Any reviews or concrit are much appreciated! The rating reflects some violent content in the story - but really, very little will be above a PG-13 level. This is a Snape/OFC romance (even if the first two chapters do not look like it) but will hopefully contain enough actual plot and drama to give even non-romance readers something to like. So, on with the story:

_

* * *

_

_Somewhere, a dark figure huddled in front of a dim fire that barely gave off any heat. Staring into the flickering flames, he thought bitterly about the ugliness of the last few months. It all had ended so suddenly, so unexpectedly - his plans come to nothing, his visions of grandeur destroyed, his dreams shattered like glass . They had died along with the One in whom he had put all his hopes for the future. The One who had promised him a better life, who had waved before him visions of fame, greatness, and glory as the just compensation for fealty. Oh, the dreams he had dreamt. _

_It was nightmares, now, instead. All that was left was the bitterness of defeat. Always on the run, chased by Aurors, and heaven help him if they found him. Too late had he seen the traitor in their midst. _That one_. His heart convulsed with hate. He had trusted him, had thought he was on their side, all these years; had even looked up to him. Yet all along he had fooled him. Betrayed him, betrayed his Lord, betrayed them all. The Dark Lord was vanquished, and yet that one lived. That wasn't right, was it? He should have to pay for what he did, shouldn't he? Yes indeed, he should. But how? Simple death was not enough. He would have to figure out something special, some way to not just kill him, but destroy him, a painful and slow end..._

_.-.-.-.-._

As Minerva McGonagall droned on about this year's test results, Professor Severus Snape impatiently tapped the tip of his quill on the parchment in front of him. This was the last staff meeting of the year. After this, there would be blessed freedom – freedom from students, teaching, meetings, lesson plans, and preparation.

There already was freedom from more than one thing – Lord Voldemort was dead, his Death Eaters either in Azkaban, or scattered and in hiding. The last of the by now obligatory crises had passed – what was that now, seven years in a row? – and he was free, free of the Dark Lord, and free of Harry Potter.

By all that was right, he should have been rid of the boy two years ago. Everyone knew that he only accepted students with no less than an 'O' on their Potions O.W.L. into his N.E.W.T. class. But no, as always, there had been special treatment given to the Potter boy – Dumbledore had called Severus into his office and mildly 'requested' that he allow at least 'E' students to participate in his classes as well, insinuating that his standards were unreasonably high. Strangely enough, the Headmaster had never complained about that in any of the previous years.

Well, that was over and done with, water under the bridge, and the fact that the Potter boy was finally gone for good from his life put the Potions master in a much more charitable mood. In just a few more minutes, he would be free to go and do what he wanted, a whole summer at his disposal. His presence would be required neither by the Order nor among the Death Eaters; his time was finally his own again. _Free._ He cautiously tried to get his mind around the word. The thought was almost disconcerting. It had been so long.

He looked up as Albus Dumbledore rose and cleared his throat.

"First of all, I want to thank you all for a successful year. In view of all that happened, it is nothing short of a miracle that we managed to finish the school year as planned. All of you have shown outstanding commitment and ability, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

"Before I dismiss you for the summer, let me just touch on a couple of points. Several staff members have brought to my attention that the composition skills of the lower years have been steadfastly declining."

The Potions master snorted softly. The lack of mastery many of the students displayed concerning grammar, structure, and spelling was completely unacceptable. He had let the Headmaster know in no uncertain terms that he could not be expected to teach basic English in addition to drumming the finer points of potion preparation into the dunderheads' skulls. Seemingly, he hadn't been the only one. It was unreasonable to expect that the students would progress on their own in writing skills after entering Hogwarts at the age of eleven. Instruction in the magical arts was certainly paramount, but instilling the ability to write a coherent sentence should not be underestimated, in Snape's opinion.

"...I am delighted to inform you that next school year we will create a new staff position that will add an hour or two of English Composition to the students' schedules," Dumbledore continued. "I assume you all will be pleased with that?"

He looked straight at Severus with that infernal twinkle in his eyes as a smattering of applause broke out across the room. "Please let me know if you know of any candidate suitable for the position. Other than that, there will be no changes; I am overjoyed to report that all the rest of the staff will be returning next year. Please get your supply lists to me no later than August first, and Professor McGonagall will have the new class schedules to you no later than the middle of that month. If that is all then? Any questions?" He paused for a moment with raised eyebrows. "No? Well, then all that is left for me to do is wish all of you a great summer. Enjoy your time off; you have earned it."

A murmur filled the room as teachers and staff stood up, gathered papers and quills, and started shaking hands and saying good-bye to friends and colleagues.

So all the staff would be returning – Severus Snape realized with a bitter smirk that that meant his application for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position must have been rejected yet again. Dumbledore hadn't even had the decency to tell him. He sent an icy glare over towards Remus Lupin, who had filled that position for the last two years. So Lupin would get the job for another year, and as a consolation price, Severus would again get to spend several extra hours in the dungeon every month, whipping up Wolfsbane Potion. And fill in occasionally when the werewolf was indisposed. Terrific.

He stood up with a sigh, gathered his belongings, and said some curt good-byes to those he passed on his way out the door. He let out a deep breath – finished, over, done; finally. One more unpleasant obligation to get out of the way and he would be free for the summer. _Free._..


	2. Ancestral Home

Severus Snape paused for a moment before walking up to the door of the dilapidated house. Once, it must have been impressive, but it had been many, many years now since neglect and time had reduced it to its present depressing state. He could not remember ever having seen it any other way than this, with peeling paint, a sagging roofline, and gardens gone to seed generations ago. He unconsciously squared his shoulders before walking up to the massive door. How he hated this place.

"Hello, Mother." Severus Snape allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace by the small woman who had opened the door. "Is he here?"

"I'm afraid so," she said apologetically, looking over her shoulder with uneasiness.

The muscles in the Potion master's face tightened, but he stepped through the doorway.

The only reason he came to this house was to see his mother, and he limited his visits to one per year. It was all he could bring himself to do.

Saeran Snape followed her son into the dark, overstuffed parlor. A long time ago she had been a beauty, with the black hair and fair skin tone of her Welsh ancestors. That beauty had long since fled, leaving behind a faded woman with ashen skin.

"Sit. I'll get some tea on."

He gingerly sat down on the large chintz sofa. Like everything else in the house, it had seen better days. The arms were so worn they were threadbare, a fact that the mistress of the house unsuccessfully tried to disguise by covering them with dingy antimacassars, yellowed with age.

"So how are you doing?" The conversation, as always, was stiff and awkward.

"Fine, fine. And you?"

"Quite well." There was a pause as both were trying to find something else to say.

"You _look_ well," Saeran said, and meant it. He did look better than the last time she had seen him, better rested.

They made small talk, the kind of stilted conversation of no consequence that people make in hospitals when they are waiting for someone to arrive who will bring bad news.

A door opened somewhere in the house, and the sound made both of them look up in apprehension.

"I think I better check on the kettle," Saeran said hurriedly, and bolted into the kitchen.

"Hello, Sev." A swarthy, stocky man stood in the doorframe of the corridor which connected the parlor with the rest of the house."Fancy seeing you here." Augustus Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Hello, Father," Severus answered reservedly.

The look on Augustus' face spoke of contempt and derision. "I'm surprised that you would dare show your face around here."

"I came to see mother." _Not you_. The implication was clear.

"As if she would want to see you, after the way you embarrassed us. Do you have any idea what you did to me and your mother?"

"May I remind you that if I hadn't gotten you safely out of the way of the Ministry, you would be rotting in Azkaban right now?" Snape-the-younger spoke through clenched teeth.

"If it hadn't been for you, _dear _son, I would right now be in a place of honor at the Dark Lord's side instead of not being able to show my face in polite society." Augustus Snape spat the words at his offspring.

"You would not be in a place of honor anywhere," Severus said coldly, dismissively "The only reason I could spare mother the humiliation of seeing you sent to Azkaban is the fact that as a Dark wizard, you were every bit as inconsequential and negligible as you have been at anything you have ever done."

It had always been a thorn in Augustus Snape's side that unlike his son, he had never been able to penetrate into Voldemort's Inner Circle. He didn't appreciate being reminded of it. His face was turning an alarming shade of red.

"How dare you?" he roared. "If I think of where we could be right now... the Dark Lord trusted you. We could have restored this House to honor, to greatness. The Snapes could have been a name to be reckoned with once more. But no, you had to throw your lot in with Dumbledore and his ragtag, mudblood bunch. Merlin, what a waste." Augustus Snape strode over and stood in front of his son with fists clenched in front of his chest.

"You miserable little spy. Dumbledore's sock puppet. You are a fine one to speak of success. You have been repaid well for selling out your friends, have you? Was it worth it, being humiliated in front of the Wizengamot?What did he do, buy you a nice shiny new cauldron for your dungeon?" The sneer on his face would have been instantly recognizable to any of Severus' students. "You could have done better. So much better."

Severus pressed his lips together so tightly they seemed bloodless. Swiftly, he rose and looked down on his father. It had always been a source of secret satisfaction to him that he stood several inches taller. Augustus took a couple of steps back.

"I think maybe I better leave."

"First thing I have heard you say that makes any sense. Yes, leave," Augustus said. "And stay gone. "

"My mother still lives here. I will do as I please," Severus said, his eyes narrowing.

"This is my house. You are not welcome here any more."

"And how exactly are you going to stop me?" Severus said almost pleasantly. He had stopped being afraid of his father sometime during his seventh year when he realized that the elder Snape could not beat him in a duel any more if his life depended on it. The day Augustus had come to the same realization had not been a pleasant one. Severus had never let him forget, either.

"Would anyone like some tea?" said a quavering voice from the kitchen door. Saeran Snape stood white-faced, with trembling hands holding onto the teapot.

"I'm afraid Sev was just leaving," Augustus said, half-choked with anger, not taking his eyes off his son.

Severus looked as if he was about to say something, but then changed his mind.

He turned decisively, and walked over to Saeran. "I am sorry, Mother," he said softly.

"It's all right," she said with a quiver in her voice. She put her hand against his cheek. "It was good to see you." Severus kissed her on the forehead, and left without another word or look.


	3. St Comgan

The village of St. Comgan snugly hugged the mouth of a small river as it emptied into the sea. A small Wizarding community had existed here since their ancestors had fled to this out-of-the-way place as a result of the persecution that had shaken the Scottish Wizarding world during the reign of James VI.

While the warmer waters and wide, sandy beaches in the South attracted those with families or a liking for promenades and night life, this sleepy fishing village catered to those souls who could find beauty in ruggedness and solitude. A part of the coastline had been protected with a Muggle Repelling Charm for centuries, leaving it in its natural, unspoiled state.

Severus had thought long and hard about what he wanted to do with his first free summer in years. Staying at Hogwarts had not sounded appealing. Dining in the almost empty Great Hall with whoever remained of the other three Heads of House, the Headmaster, and Argus Filch was not something he enjoyed. There was something eerie about the castle when the only beings in residence were a handful of humans, the ghosts, and the house elves. And he had seen enough of Minerva and Albus in the last few years on and off the job to last him a lifetime.

On the other hand, the thought of sight-seeing or summer crowds sounded about as appealing as moldy bread and sour milk. So he had finally settled on St. Comgan.

The small inn where Severus had booked his stay provided reasonably priced room and board to those in the Wizarding world wanting time away from it all. _Far_ away from it all. He left the appropriate number of galleons for a six week stay with the clerk at the front desk, and climbed up the creaking stairs to his room. After unlocking the door, he stepped into his new abode and looked around. Not bad.

The room appeared reasonably clean. A sturdy-looking bed dressed up in snowy linens stood against one wall, and there was a low-armed, high-backed leather chair in front of the large fireplace. It looked like a fine place to spend the evenings with a glass of wine and a good book. Yes, over all, quite satisfactory.

Within a couple of days he had settled into a routine. Breakfast at the inn, an amble along the coast or through town, then walk to the small, sandy cove he had discovered about half a mile up the coast, toting the sack lunch provided by the inn for its patrons. After that, read there until evening, then return to the hotel for dinner, and read in his room until it was time for bed. For the first three days, it was heaven. Within a fortnight, he was bored to tears.

The inn was not exactly overcrowded. Other than him, the only guests were a group of middle-aged witches who seemed to take great pleasure in days spent wandering across the lowlands, and evenings spent playing whist in the common room. And an elderly couple who didn't seem to go anywhere without their very tall walking sticks.

After they had tried to involve him in conversation one evening, he came to the conclusion that no matter what else one might say about Minerva and Albus, at least they were not terminally _dull._

The third week, a low pressure front moved in. For two days, there was a constant drizzle, only interrupted by heavier showers. It didn't seem to bother the witches much, whose shrieking laughter resonated throughout the entire house from the parlor. By the evening of day two, Severus decided that if the didn't get out soon, he would end up strangling one or two of them, if not the entire gaggle.

There were only two magical establishments in town -- one the Waterside Inn, where Severus stayed, the other a small pub not far down an alley. It was there he decided to go.

After dashing in from the rain and shaking drops off his wet overcoat, he stepped up to the pockmarked oaken bar, and asked the matronly bartender for a whisky on the rocks. He needed it.

He looked around for a place to sit. Apparently, every witch and wizard in town had had the same idea on this dismal evening. The only open seat was at the far side of the bar. Drink in hand, he made his way through the smoke-filled room and slid onto the tall barstool. On his left was a young couple with two pints of bitter in front of them, oblivious to the world. On his right, a woman sat lost in thought, nursing a glass of white wine. He frowned briefly as he cast a sideways glance at her. She looked quite familiar.

He was sure he had seen her around town before. Yes - at first he had assumed she was a Muggle tourist, sitting at one of the small tables the Muggle pub kept out on the sidewalk during warmer weather, her nose in a book. Or throwing bread to the gulls on the quay. Later though, he had passed her while hiking the trail on the Muggle-protected part of the coast. She had smiled at him as he walked by.

He furtively looked her way again. Medium height, angular build, brown hair carelessly tied back. About his age, maybe a few years younger. Yes, he recognized her.

At that moment she turned to look at him. "Haven't I seen you around here somewhere?" she asked quizzically, as if not quite sure. She held out her hand. "My name's Hannah."

He regarded her hand in consternation for a moment before taking it. "Severus."

"Severus? Unusual name. It fits you, somehow."

He looked at her sharply. She was smiling at him – there was no indication that she had meant it as a jibe. "I don't know if that is a compliment or an insult."

She laughed. "Take it as a compliment. Hannahs are two-a-penny. I always wished I had a more unique name."

Before long, he found himself in an amiable conversation, mostly carried by her. When she got up an hour later, he realized with considerable surprise that he had actually enjoyed himself.

"It was nice talking to you," she said as she picked a capacious bag off the floor to leave. "Will I see you again?"

He shrugged diffidently. "I'll be in town a few more weeks."

"Here's hoping, then." With a smile, she was gone, leaving him to contemplate how many more whiskies it would take before he could face those shrieking witches again without committing murder


	4. Old Enemies and New Acquaintances

When the next day again dawned gray and drizzling, Severus admitted defeat. St. Comgan would have to do without him for the day. After an early breakfast, he decided he might as well take care of Hogwarts business since there was nothing better to do, and Apparated to Diagon Alley. He knew he could easily while away several pleasant hours in the apothecary, browsing the new stock and ordering supplies for the coming year.

The jingle of bells in a back room announced his arrival to the clerk, who hurried out front to see to his customer.

"Professor Snape. We weren't expecting you yet," the clerk exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. The arrival of the Hogwarts Potions master was always good news for business.

Severus Snape deeply inhaled the stench of rotten eggs and spoiled cabbages that clung to the establishment. The inside of _Slug and Jiggers_ might not be appealing to the olfactory system, but the vile smell didn't deter him. On the contrary, should he have arrived one year to find the apothecary smelling like rose water, he would have been quite put out. This was as it should be.

"I thought I would get a head start this year," he said. "Did you get any Black Hellebore in?"

"Yes," the clerk answered, "top quality, very fine. What are you looking for, in specific? Whole root? Powdered? Dried or oil-packed petals? We even have a small supply of seeds, if you are interested."

"Whole root."

The clerk climbed up a tall ladder and rummaged among the jars on the top shelf. "It should be right around here - ah, yes." A flick of his wand sent the jar down to the counter. "We don't get much call for that. Most people seem to prefer the processed version," he explained as he climbed back down the ladder.

Severus snorted as he expertly fingered the shriveled rhizomes. As far as he was concerned, the less an ingredient got handled before use, the better.

"I'll take six ounces."

Several hours later, the pile on the counter had grown by quite a bit as the red-faced, sweating clerk wiped his face with a checkered cloth.

"Anything else I can show you?" The clerk's voice hovered between hopeful and weary as his thoughts went from the commission he would earn to his poor tired legs.

"I think that will do for now. You will see to it this is sent to my office at Hogwarts?"

The clerk nodded respectfully. "Yes, sir. Of course." He shook the professor's hand. "Always a pleasure."

As Snape left the store, his rumbling stomach reminded him that he was two hours overdue for lunch. The Leaky Cauldron, then.

When he entered the shabby inn, he found the dining room almost deserted. He seated himself at a corner table, and perused the menu. Nothing looked particularly good. He finally settled on some roast, boiled potatoes, and peas, and placed his order.

He was going over his list while waiting for the meal to arrive - _he really would have to find a different supplier for Ephedra Sinica;_ Slug and Jiggers'_ supply was simply not up to snuff_ - when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Well, looky who we have here," a grating voice said. "Slippery-slick Severus Snape."

Severus looked into the florid face of Frank Hannigan, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for over a year now.

The beefy, thick-necked man was no friend of his. Not by a long shot.

The Potion master's mouth clenched tightly. His last encounter with the former Auror still burned bitterly in his memory.

"You know, I will get you one day," Hannigan said conversationally. "You're a bad tree, Severus, bad to the roots. You may have fooled the Wizengamot, even fooled them twice, but bad trees bear bad fruit. You'll show your true colors again. And then I will get you." He spoke with relish, like he could already taste victory.

"Sore loser, are you?" Snape said coldly, his lip curling.

"I may have lost the case, but that doesn't make you a winner, does it now?" Hannigan asked with narrowed eyes and a half-smile. "You still lost." He gave a little wave as he left. "Tata, Severus. I'll see you again. Count on it."

When the waitress arrived with his plate, Severus pushed it away. He had lost his appetite. The roast was stringy, the potatoes soggy, the peas grey. Even without thoughts of Frank Hannigan, the meal would not have been appealing.

Hannigan had taken over the Department when Amelia Bones had been assassinated. The murder had never been solved, but the official press release had placed responsibility at the feet of the Death Eaters.

Privately, Severus thought it very likely that Hannigan had had his finger in _that_ pie. The death had certainly been a convenient avenue of career advancement. And Severus should have heard _something_ had the Death Eaters been involved.

He pulled the plate back towards himself, and started picking at the food.

Old Frank would certainly not have soiled his own hands; he would have found someone else to do the dirty work for him. Severus was sure nothing could ever be proven. Hannigan's position gave him too much power.

It was Hannigan who had welcomed the Dementors back as guards of Azkaban after the Dark Lord's fall. He had rightly pointed to the fact that escapes had become much more frequent since the soul-sucking creatures had departed. And that without them, Azkaban was just a prison – it was the thought of the Dementors that made the mere idea of a term in Azkaban change a potential criminal's mind. Yet much of the Wizarding world had opposed such a move, since the Dementors had lost little time in allying themselves with Voldemort. Hannigan had somehow managed to bulldoze over all objections.

And it was Hannigan who had restored to the Aurors the unrestrained power they had once been given under Crouch – power to use Unforgivables, power that made their conduct barely different from that of the Death Eaters.

With a sigh, Severus gave up on the meal. Enough time wasted thinking about that maggot. He still had a couple more shops to visit before returning to that blasted inn in that blasted village. If Minerva hadn't expressed dire doubts about his ability to take a proper holiday, and offered to partner him in a rousing game of Wizard's Chess when he decided he had had enough, Severus would have been sorely tempted to return to Hogwarts. As it was, he liked to finish what he started. He would take the bloody holiday if it bloody killed him.

-o.o.o-

When he looked out his window the next morning, the sun was doing battle with a layer of mist, but it looked like the sun was winning this time. Finally.

Shortly before lunch time, he climbed down the narrow wooden steps that led to the small half-moon shaped beach. The high tide had swallowed most of it, leaving only a narrow strip of sand.

He stopped in consternation when he reached the bottom. Someone was already there. A blanket, covered with books, some knitting, a bottle of water, and assorted other bits of flotsam took up space next to a large rock on the far side of the beach. Just terrific. As if there weren't enough other beaches around here.

The frown line between his brows deepened as he looked around. The owner had to be somewhere. He had just turned to leave before whoever-it-was showed up, when a voice greeted him from above.

"Severus. How nice to meet you again." The woman from the pub was coming down the stairs, smiling at him. "I see you found my beach."

Severus felt a stab of irritation. What did she mean,_ her_ beach? He had been coming here for two weeks already.

"I was just out for a bit of a walk. It's so nice that the weather has turned, isn't it? I was getting tired of the rain." As Hannah reached the bottom step, she sat down and took off her sandals. "Would you like to join me for lunch? I brought plenty." She gestured towards her blanket. Noticing the frown on his face, she added, "Please? You would be doing me a favor. I hate eating along." She smiled up at him. "You won't regret it. I'm a good cook."

"Um, I..."

"Please?" There was a pleading note in her voice.

There seemed to be simply no way to politely refuse. And she was still blocking the way up the stairs. With a sigh, Severus gave in. "I would be honored," he muttered.

He stiffly followed her to her staked claim and, spreading his coat on the sand, sat down next to her. She started pulling assorted containers and packages out of her bag. Surely, it must have magical properties if it had held everything now spread out on the blanket. Fried chicken, cold ham, asparagus salad, a loaf of brown bread, and buttery lemon bars were joined by a bowl of fresh cherries.

Severus wryly thought of the soggy ham-and-cheese roll residing in his lunch bag, and concluded that at least _something _about this time would not be a total loss.

Next, she pulled out a bottle of Italian Red, and handed him that and a corkscrew.

"Would you do the honors?" While he deftly removed the cork, she added a couple of glasses, two plates, forks, knives, and napkins to the growing array on the blanket. She leaned back with a satisfied look. "Well, dig in."

Inwardly, he recoiled a little. She was entirely too…_nice. _It seemed...odd. What exactly did she _want_ from him? Yet at the same time, there was something disarming about her. Something… nice. Gads, he hated that word.

She had been right about her culinary abilities, though. The food was delicious. And the wine did much to assuage his bad mood. All in all, he thought, lunch didn't go too badly, with conversation meandering down commonplace paths while they enjoyed the food, the sunshine, and the view.

Afterwards, she pointed to the book he had put down. "Is it any good?"

"I haven't read enough to form an opinion." He motioned to her pile. "How about you? What are you reading?"

"Just rereading some of my favorites. The holidays are a good time to revisit old friends, don't you think?"

He looked at the tome at the top of the pile. _Five Children and It._

"Children's books?" He smirked.

"Some of them. What about it?'"she said defensively. "It's a good story. What's your favorite book?"

He didn't reply. None of her business.

"Never mind. I bet you it's not a Wizarding book, though," she said.

"And how would you know that?" he said somewhat waspishly.

She grinned. "Gah – have you looked at Wizarding novels? They're the most dreadful drivel. Virtually every one of them seems to feature some hapless witch in too-tight robes waiting for an all-powerful wizard to rescue her from the clutches of some Dark Creature."

She put the back of her hand against her forehead and dramatically swooned against him. "Save me! The werewolf is about to bite me! Of course, he should have bitten me two hours ago, but he was waiting for you to arrive, so you could by sheer daring-do and heroism rescue me from a fate worse than death!"

He made a snorting noise that almost qualified as a laugh. It was true that the Wizarding world was not known for its great contributions to English literature.

"Well, you didn't specify the book had to be fiction," he protested. "There are some books about history that I quite enjoy." He nodded in the direction of the one he had brought. "Like this one."

"That may be true, but that's not the kind of book you really _love."_ She spoke with conviction as she started to collect her belongings and stow them in that capacious bag.

When she had packed everything up, she stood up.

"Would you meet me again tomorrow? Same time? You bring the wine?"

To his surprise, he found himself nodding.


	5. At the Cove

_I met a man._

Hannah sat in the window seat of the small one-room flat that was her home for the summer. Her quill made smooth, precise strokes on the pages of her diary.

_It seems strange, writing that. I noticed him walking around town this last week – it would have been hard not to notice; he sticks out like a crow among seagulls. Luckily, this town has enough of a magical population that they are used to the occasional odd bird. I figured he was wizarding kind even before he sat down next to me at the pub two nights ago. _

_He is tall and dark and not the slightest bit handsome. There is something about him, though – I can't put my finger on it. It's almost like looking through a dark, heavy drapery and just barely being able to make out the flickering of a fire on the other side. I am just writing inexcusably poetic bosh, I guess - but I decided I like him. He is interesting to talk to – even if he does have a tendency to be a bit monosyllabic at times. _

_Yesterday, he showed up at that little beach I love. When I invited him for lunch, I don't know if it was he or I who was more surprised when he actually accepted. I asked him to come for a picnic again today. I don't know if he actually will. Just maybe, this summer could turn out nicer than I thought it would. We'll see._

_His name is Severus._

Hannah put down her quill with a determined air and stretched. If she wanted to get a picnic ready, she had better get her act together quickly. Time was running away.

* * *

Severus had spent half the morning wondering how wise it would be to actually go. And then spent a frustrating half an hour at the decidedly under-stocked village grocer's trying to find a bottle of wine that would be appropriate. He finally settled on a light Italian red – you couldn't really go too wrong with that, and since she had produced something similar yesterday, it should be acceptable to her tastes.

Walking down the narrow path along the shoreline, he made his way to the cove. It was a beautiful day. The sea shone like a thousand shards of silver, glittering in the noonday sun. Seabirds skimmed inches over the surface, their wings almost touching the water, flitting up just in time. On the shore, small waves slapped softly against the sand, a gentle, steady rhythm.

She was already there when he arrived, her nose in the ubiquitous book. As she heard his footsteps coming down the stairs, she looked up with a grin.

"Severus. I'm so glad you came. I would have had to make a pig out of myself otherwise." She gestured at the multitude of containers already set out on the blanket. It was clear that neither one of them would be in any danger of starvation that day.

He handed her the brown-paper-bag-wrapped bottle with a bit of awkwardness. The whole _thing_ was still a bit awkward. Yet there was something surprisingly agreeable about having someone wait for him, want his presence, even if only as a lunch companion. Right now, he was inclined to consider the awkwardness a not too-high price to pay for that.

Taking the bottle from him, she said, "Perfect. Thank you."

By the time she handed him a small bowl of berries and cream at the end of the meal, he had allowed himself to relaxed some.

"That was excellent. Thank you," he said, somewhat formally.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." She was holding her glass of wine by the stem, twisting it, holding it up against the sunlight. "I like fixing up a meal for someone else. It's much more fun than just cooking for myself."

"Is that what you usually do?"

She looked away, and shrugged.

"So what do you do for a living? Is it related to food? Or books?" he asked.

The smile dropped off her face and she leaned forward, looking down at her bare feet, toes curling up in the sand. There was a closed look in her eyes now.

After a minute, she looked up at him cautiously. "Severus, in just a few weeks we'll have to go back to our regular lives. I'll go back to mine, you'll go back to yours, and we will probably never see each other again." Her eyes wandered back to the ocean, got lost on the horizon. "I would really like to… _forget_ about my regular life for a while. I know nothing about you, you know nothing about me. Would it bother you a whole lot to just keep it that way?" She turned towards him apologetically, questioningly. "I like spending time with you. I would like to _keep _spending time with you. If you want." She smiled a crooked little half-smile at him. "Take a break from reality. Have someone to do things with, to talk to, right here. And when time's up, we go our separate ways. Would that be all right with you?"

A bit stunned, Severus realized that somehow, he had never even noticed how she had skillfully guided conversation so that the most basic of questions had never come up. _Where do you come from? What do you do?_ Those questions, usually among the first asked when strangers meet, had never been answered. He still didn't even know her last name, or anything else that might be considered 'important'. And now here was this odd proposition…

Hannah looked at him sideways, her cheeks reddening. "I really didn't mean to offend you, I understand if…"

"No, it's fine," he interrupted her. "It sounds like a reasonable arrangement."

She let out a quick breath. "It does?" She sounded like she could not quite believe her ears.

"Yes. It does." His lips curled into a hint of a smile. No personal questions he would find awkward to answer. No expectations. It sounded fine. In fact, it almost sounded too good to be true.


	6. Mist and Vapor

A week later, the weather changed again. The rain was back with a vengeance.

Severus took one look out the window, and settled down for a long day in front of the fire. It was a nice change of pace. The sound of the rain against the window pane was relaxing, and the witches had Floo'ed out for the day, leaving the inn silent for once. The last few days had involved several meals and walks along the coast with Hannah, and though he thought her company quite tolerable most of the time, there was something to be said for a day of solitude with no one to disturb him.

It hadn't been quiet the evening before. He didn't even know how it had started. They had been drinking a cool glass of ale in the pub when somehow, an article on the back page of the Daily Prophet had led to a rather heated discussion on the Werewolf Acts, which were up for revision. Even though that woman clearly knew much less on the subject than he did, she was adamant in defending the position that the current law, which made it near impossible for a werewolf to find employment, was inhumane.

"They're being punished for something that isn't their fault. They cannot help what they are. They deserve compassion, not punishment. Not to mention that the condition is completely predictable _and_ manageable." She had pressed her lips together obstinately.

"The condition is manageable_ if_ the werewolf is responsible. You cannot guarantee that even under the best conditions a werewolf will behave in a responsible manner," he had argued, his voice chilly. "The fact that new werewolves are created every year is clear proof that not all of them do, as should be readily apparent to anyone. Society has an obligation to protect itself from those who would harm it. If that places some measure of burden on those affected, so be it."

"There's no way to make sure that they act responsibly anyways. Unless the Ministry decides to dispatch personnel to every known werewolf once a month to pour Wolfsbane Potion down his throat," Hannah said sharply. "They simply cannot keep track of everyone, and it's the ones most likely to act irresponsibly that will simply keep moving without a forwarding address for as along as they can to avoid persecution. The ones willing to adhere to the law will be the ones punished. It simply isn't fair."

Severus's eyes narrowed. "You obviously do not understand what you are talking about. Yes, it may be unfortunate for the werewolf, but for the good of the majority, those living around or working with a werewolf need to be informed of the risk to which they could be exposed. They can't protect themselves from a danger that they do not know exists."

"Well,_ you_ get ostracized for something that isn't your fault and you can't change no matter how much you want to. And tell me how you like it," she had said in a petulant voice.

He had not been able to convince her that there was no relevance whatsoever to that statement. She simply could not be persuaded that her point of view was flawed, and he had finally excused himself and had swept out of the pub in not the best of temper.

Somehow, he had rather expected her to come after him. She hadn't. And all the next day he had heard nothing from her.

Well, if she decided she had had enough -- good riddance.

-o.o.o-

The next day, the witches were back, and he was contemplating another trip to Diagon Alley when there was an unexpected knock on the door. Opening it, he found the proprietor of the Inn, wringing his hands apologetically.

"I know you didn't want to be disturbed, but someone dropped off a note for you…"

Severus took it with a muttered thank you. With a long finger, he slit open the envelope.

_Dear Severus,_

_Would you join me for dinner tonight? I miss your company (don't smirk). _

_Shall we say around six? If you don't show up, I will assume you had other plans. _

_Hannah_

Offering an olive branch, hm? He smirked. Very well, then.

When he arrived at the small flat, Hannah met him at the door, drying wet hands with a tea towel.

"Sorry, I'm running behind. I lost track of time." She beckoned him in as he proffered a bottle of Merlot. "Oh, thank you, that looks wonderful. You didn't have to… Why don't you open it and pour yourself a glass while I finish dinner? " She motioned towards the top drawer. "You'll find a corkscrew in there."

He did as he was told, and settled down on the couch. He looked around – the flat sported the mix of worn second-hand furniture that could be expected in a cheap rental. There were a few touches that he was sure were hers. A quilt in muted shades of green and gold covered the back of the sofa. Round, fat candles squatted in the center of the low table in front of it. Next to them, a wand sat on top of a stack of books. Maple, 9 inches, he figured.

She was busy wielding a knife – the gently-curved blade rocked back and forth in an even rhythm, reducing mushrooms to cream-colored slices. The scent of baking bread wafted through the air.

Fifteen minutes later, the soup was almost finished. Hannah was bending over the oven door, ready to take out the bread. She pointed to the refrigerator. "Sev, would you mind getting the..."

The reaction was instantaneous. Two long steps across the room. A finger and thumb, vise-like, gripping her wrist, pulling her up, turning her to face him. A face, set in angry lines, inches from hers.

"Do not _ever _address me like that," he hissed, his eyes narrowed.

She closed her eyes for a moment

"Take your hand off me. Please." She pointedly looked at his fingers, still encircling her wrist.

He dropped it suddenly, took three steps away, turned his back. His breath was coming quickly, shallowly.

For a minute, no one moved. Then he heard her take a deep breath. "Severus, I'm sorry. I should have asked. I promise it won't happen again."

When he did not respond, he heard her footsteps coming towards him.

First, there was the soft touch of a hand against his shoulder; then arms wrapped around his waist from behind. He could feel the gentle pressure of her head resting against his back. "This would be a perfect time to say 'I'm sorry I snapped at you'," she said quietly.

She gave him a light squeeze, and then let go and returned to her cooking.

He could hear her moving around in the room, the door of the refrigerator opening, plates clanking against each other. Part of him wanted to just leave. He didn't need this sort of difficulty.

"Dinner is ready," she said, sitting down on one of the chairs around the tiny table.

He still stood, facing the door, not moving.

"I'm afraid it's is nothing fancy – chicken-vegetable soup and some bread," she said apologetically.

"Did I hurt you?" The words came out gruffly.

"Not really. I'm fine."

"I didn't mean to..."

"You don't need to explain," she interrupted him.

He finally turned to face her. "Only one person ever called me that," he continued bitterly, as if he had not even heard her. "I _hate _that name."

She got up and laid one hand on his arm. "Well, if it is confession time, I have one to make."

He turned and looked at her questioningly.

She returned the gaze, a twinkle in her eyes. "I really, really hate cold soup."

Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. With a snort, he let her lead him over to the table. Time for dinner then.

* * *

Later that evening, Hannah bent over her diary.

_What a strange thing this man is. He can be impossible, with a tongue sharp enough to flay the skin off a water buffalo from fifty feet away. And then strangely endearing, at the oddest moments._

_In all fairness, I am sure I aggravate him as well. I sure put my foot in it tonight. Somehow, I touched a sore spot – there was this look in his eyes…_

_Yet the funny thing is, it is almost a relief that he gets mad now instead of being so distant and polite all the time. __I find that I like him more, not less. Why is that? _

Hannah put her quill down with a sigh. She was not going to find an answer to that puzzle tonight. Time to go to bed.

* * *

Since Bernie Bluett's Beard-B-Gone Potion had hit the market ten years ago, shaving in the Wizarding World had gone the way of the dodo bird. Yet the baby-blue bottle drew nothing but scorn from Severus. He much preferred the traditional way of doing this. The _swish-swash_ of the razor against the strap, being sharpened; the rhythm of the brush in the jar, working up a lather; the coolness of the foam, the scraping of the blade against his skin – he loved the precision and repetition of it. He couldn't imagine his morning routine without the ritual.

Drying his face, he looked over the meager content of the closet. Three more days, and selecting appropriate clothing would not be a problem any more. He was very much starting to look forward to his return to Hogwarts.

He contemplated what to wear. If he stuck around here, there would be no need for the odd attire that was a necessity when wandering around the Muggle part of town. Since he wasn't supposed to meet Hannah until dinner - something about fish-and-chips on the quay – he wouldn't need to worry about that for a while. He put on his customary black robe and walked down to the dining room for breakfast.

When he entered, he found that the witches had beaten him to it. Terrific. The arrival yesterday of two latecomers to the group had spurred them on to new heights of giddiness. As he made his way to a small table at the opposite end of the room, he could feel their eyes on him. They had suddenly stopped talking when he entered the room. After he ordered his meal, snatches of conversation drifted over to where he sat, as the witches resumed their talk in what he supposed _they_ thought was a discrete whisper.

"…_I told you it was 'im, Minnie…"_

"_He's so polite and quiet, though, keeps to himself…"_

"…_always say that about mass murderers…"_

"_I saw 'is picture in the paper, I'm sure it's 'im, Cerberus Snipe, or som'thin' like that. A Death Eater, is 'e…"_

"_I always did say you can't trust him, I did. Just look at him…"_

"…_said he even killed babies. Got off on a technicality."_

"_...scum like that, in such a respectable inn…"_

"…_should complain to the proprietor."_

He ate his meal stony-faced. They didn't leave even after they had finished their meal but kept watching him with a sort of morbid fascination. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the looks on their faces. Disgust, revulsion, scorn, contempt. Looks that had become all too familiar. Bile rose in his throat, and he abruptly pushed back his chair and left.

He went back up to his room, changed clothes, and grabbed his coat. Aimlessly, he strode along the coast, over the lowlands, through town. He didn't even know he was looking for something until he found it.

She was sitting on a bluff, overlooking the ocean, knitting some sort of bright-colored scarf, a magazine open in front of her. When she saw him, she looked up and smiled at him.

"Severus, what a nice surprise." She motioned to a spot on the blanket beside her. "Did you bring a book?"

"I did." He pulled a book from his pocket, restored it to its regular size with a flick of his wand , and sat down beside her. As she returned to her knitting, he sat with the open book on his lap, looking out over the ocean. After a few minutes, she placed her hand over his.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." His voice was rough.

He knew it was only illusion, only mist and vapor. All he would have to do was pull the shirt sleeve up over his left arm to see her hand get snatched away and the smile drop off her face.

The Mark was still there, faded now, but still visible. It would always be there, proof that he deserved every look of contempt and disgust on the witches' faces. But she didn't know, and her hand felt warm over his.

Mist and vapor, yes – but right now, it was enough.

* * *


	7. Back at Hogwarts

The final day, they ate a late dinner and strolled down to the beach one last time.

"Let's watch the sunset," she suggested. "It isn't a perfect summer unless you watch the sunset with someone at least once."

He shot an incredulous look in her direction.

"So I'm a charter member of Hopeless Romantics Anonymous." She shrugged and grinned. "Humor me."

Their backs against a log that the winter storms had tossed up high on the beach, they watched the sun slowly sink below the horizon, neither of them talking much.

There were just enough clouds in the sky to provide a perfect canvas for the sun to paint, in shades of orange and pink and gold. She pulled the blanket over both of them as the air turned colder. "Severus, would you mind…" she said hesitantly, then stopped.

"What?"

"Would you mind holding me for a while?" she asked. Even in the light of the setting sun he could see her cheeks turning pink.

When he didn't answer, she leaned against him, her head against his shoulder.

He hesitated for a moment, and then with a mental shrug allowed his arm to settle across her shoulder. There didn't seem to be anything better to do with it. And she had asked for it.

They watched as the last sliver of the sun sunk below the sea, then saw the stars come out and the moon rise over the lowlands. Finally, she sighed and sat up. "I guess we'll have to go _some_ time."

In silence, they walked back to her flat. She turned as they reached the bottom of the staircase.

"So this is it."

He tersely nodded.

"Thank you for everything, Severus. It's been wonderful."

He uncomfortably realized that he had absolutely no idea what would be the appropriate thing to say in this situation. Words were not usually a problem, but right now, he was drawing an absolute blank. So he just stood there in silence. This was deucedly awkward. And becoming more so by the second.

"You could kiss me goodbye," she said. He looked at her in alarm. Things were decidedly getting out of hand. She saw the look on his face and grinned. "Or not."

Dropping her bag and blanket, she suddenly flung her arms around him in a firm embrace. "I won't forget you," she said, the sound of her voice coming muffled from where she had buried her face against his chest. For a time, they stood there, her arms around his waist, his hands holding onto her upper arms almost in reflex.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I really have to leave now," he said stiffly.

At last, she let go, her eyes suspiciously bright. She looked down, brushing an invisible thread of lint off his coat. "All right. You better go then."

He bowed stiffly, and with swift strides started to walk back to the inn. When he looked back, he could still see her standing below the street light, motionless, watching him walk away.

* * *

Early the next morning, he packed his belongings with a few firm waves of his wand, and returned his room key at the front desk. The landlord's formerly jovial nature had taken a rather abrupt turn for the worse the last couple of days. It seemed the witches had decided to voice their complaints and had found in him a willing recipient for their gossip.

As Severus left, he was fairly sure of one thing – next year, the rest of the world could take all the holidays they wanted. He would stay put at Hogwarts.

He apparated to outside the main gates and walked up to the entrance. If he had hoped to just quietly slip in, that hope was dashed within seconds.

"Well, well, Severus, I must say, the sea air seems to agree with you." He found himself firmly appraised by the Deputy Headmistress. "I would swear you've gained some weight."

"Hello, Minerva," he said dryly.

"And you got a bit of color, too. Oh, don't look at me like that. One week down in your dungeon will take care of _that_." She looked at him over the rim of glasses.

"If you're quite done assessing me, is there anything else that you wanted?" he asked with asperity.

"All right then, welcome back. I put the new class schedules in your quarters. I didn't feel like spending a day breaking the wards on your office door." She sniffed – it was obvious she was feeling a bit put out by his security measures.

Severus smirked at that. Good. If she thought he would just let anyone wander around his office while he was gone... Some of the ingredients in his private stores were exceedingly rare.

"How many new NEWT students do I have this year?"

"Twenty-two. We are still waiting to hear back from two students, so it could go up to twenty-four. I scheduled them in two groups, if that is satisfactory?"

His eyes narrowed. "If those two students have not yet bothered to make up their minds, they have no place in my class."

"Twenty-two it is, then," Minerva said briskly. She knew from long experience that this was not worth the argument. And those students _were_ two days past the deadline.

He nodded. "I will let you know if I need you to make any changes after I have a chance to look over the schedules."

Taking his leave, he made his way down to his quarters and let himself in. The ward over the door was gone, but he hadn't secured his rooms anywhere near as well as his office. There was, after all, virtually nothing here that would be of interest to anyone.

As he entered, he saw the folder of papers on the small table besides his armchair. They could wait for a while. First, he would unpack, take a shower, maybe have a cup of tea. Take one more hour before his life belonged to Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts yet again.

With a resigned expression, he opened his bedroom door – and stood still. A sickly-sweet smell permeated the air in the windowless room, the cloying odor of decay assaulting his senses. He drew his wand as he dropped the suitcase, and cautiously entered the room. Guardedly, he looked around the perimeter; nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Finally, he spotted it. Something small, black, dead lay in the middle of his bed, something that had obviously been dead for a while. An animal of some sort, about the size of a rat. The decay was so advanced he could not immediately tell what it was. Bones were starting to stick out of the cadaver where the skin had rotted away. The only thing alive were the maggots, crawling like living, squirming grains of rice over the putrefied flesh.


	8. May I introduce

Minerva McGonagall was going over the Herbology schedules when the door to her office burst open. "When were you in my quarters?" a livid Potions master demanded as he leaned over her desk.

"Heavens, Severus, what _is_ the matter?" Minerva gave him a stern look. "Do have a seat."

He roundly ignored her. "Was there a ward on the door when you came in?"

Minerva looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Do you think I would break into your chambers if you had them warded? No. There was no ward. Now, would you please explain what this is about?"

"I found a… present in my bedroom," he said grimly. "Someone's idea of a practical joke, maybe?"

"Could you please be less cryptic? A present?"

"Would you care to look and see?" he asked with exaggerated politeness. "It's quite lovely."

Minerva sighed. It was obvious that whatever bee he had in his bonnet would not leave until she gave him the proper attention. "Very well, let's go then."

Without a word Severus swept ahead of her in a cloud of billowing black cloth. He pushed the door to the bedroom open when they arrived. "After you."

"Good heavens, Severus, what is that smell?" She spotted the dark area on the bed cover, and cautiously stepped closer with a wrinkled nose. "Oh, that is disgusting."

"Lovely surprise to come home to, is it not?" Severus asked facetiously. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you came in to leave the schedules?"

"No." Minerva looked around. "But I didn't go into the bedroom, and the door was closed. So I probably wouldn't have noticed anything anyways." She thought for a moment. "Wait a second." Purposefully, she marched out of his chambers. Within a few minutes, she was back, a house elf in tow.

"Severus, this is Gwinny." Minerva McGonagall pointed to the disgruntled looking creature. "I thought maybe the house elves might have noticed something. They are usually better informed than any of us about what is happening in the castle. Even if they are very discreet."

Gwinny looked unhappily at the Potions master. "Gwinny already explain that Sir not be liking any house elves in his quarters." She reproachfully turned to the Deputy Headmistress. "We messes up his things, says he. Not be wanting any elves, here or in the office. So we stays out. We sees nothing."

Minerva sighed. "Very well, Gwinny, but I think he'll make an exception now. You can go ahead and clean up that mess over there. And do something about that smell. Please."

"Yes, Mistress McGonagall," the elf said obediently, and then turned towards the bed, muttering quietly. "Master Snape not be needing house elves, he says, and then something very revolting happen, and all of a sudden he be wanting elves again. Good enough for that, we is…"

With the corner of her mouth twitching slightly, the tartan-clad witch motioned for Severus to leave the elf to her business, and they returned to the sitting room.

"I don't think you are particularly popular with the house elves," Minerva said with a smirk.

"If you have not yet noticed, I am not particularly popular with _anyone_," Severus said dryly. "That is entire beside the point. What I am interested in right now is how that thing got to be on my bed."

"Severus, it happens." The Deputy Headmistress sat down in one of the chairs. "Some poor rodent just climbed into your bed and expired. It is a large castle, and there have been some small animals known to wander in from the outside. Rats can get through just about any nook and cranny, after all."

"I don't think it is a rat, "Severus said dismissively.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't really care. The only pertinent point is exactly how it got where it is." He leaned again the wall, arms crossed.

"Severus, as I said, probably just an unfortunate coincidence…"

"Minerva, there is one small problem with your theory." Severus was speaking slowly and succinctly.

"And that is?" McGonagall said, a bit of bite to her voice.

"For your theory to work, the unfortunate animal had to have the ability to break wards. Quite an unusual accomplishment for the average rodent, wouldn't you agree?"

Minerva rubbed a finger over her upper lip. "You had a ward in place?"

Severus nodded, an exasperated look on his face. "And you said there was no ward when you came in. Which begs the conclusion that…? " He looked at her with mock expectancy.

"That someone must have taken it down." McGonagall's face took on a serious look. "So you think this was done deliberately?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he said with a sneer.

"Who would do such a thing?" Even as Minerva asked the question, she knew that it would have probably been easier to ask about who _wouldn't_ enjoy giving the Potions master an unpleasant surprise. The list would be shorter. "What I mean is, are you suspecting anyone in particular?"

Snape shrugged. "No. But I can tell you I intend to find out." The expression on his face left no doubt that if he ever did, the individual in question would be quite sorry.

"Anything you want me to do?" Minerva asked.

"Just to keep an eye out. Let me know if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary."

"Done." McGonagall got out of her chair. "And watch out for yourself, Severus. This worries me."

-

The Potions master spent the next hour placing wards around his quarters strong enough to rival the ones that secured his office. He had never seen the need before – his life revolved around his classroom and his office; anything of importance was kept in there. Other than the few hours needed for sleep, he hardly ever entered these rooms; even an hour of leisure would be more likely to find him reading in the leather chair in his office than anywhere near his chambers.

Yet someone had invaded his private space, and Severus was determined not to give that person another opportunity. From now on, his office and private rooms would be equally guarded.

-

With little more than two weeks before the new term started, there was plenty to do. As head of Slytherin house, it was his responsibility to make sure the dormitories and common room were readied for the coming school year. Planning was somewhat complicated by the fact that one never knew exactly how many new Slytherins there would be until the Sorting.

There were files to get in order, lesson plans to prepare, records to update, inventory to take, new supplies to sort, store, and label. Severus did not have much time to think about what had occurred, and even though the unsolved mystery bothered him, it slipped from importance as several days went by and there were no other signs of anything else untoward happening.

Over the next week, staff members started trickling in. Severus grimaced as he caught a glimpse of the graying figure of the Defense master across the hall. The werewolf looked a bit less disreputable this year. Maybe he was finally getting close to getting his debts paid off. Years of not holding a steady paid job had left Lupin's finances in such a mess that it had taken him a while to dig himself out of that hole. It was one of those open secrets everyone knew even though no one could actually remember talking about it.

Being forced to work side by side with Lupin both in the Order and at Hogwarts had done nothing to soften Severus' feelings towards the werewolf. It didn't help that the Ministry had stipulated that it would be Dumbledore's responsibility to make certain that Lupin took the Wolfsbane potion during the school year. Someone would have to play nanny to the werewolf, or no job.

Dumbledore, of course, had promptly delegated the responsibility. And so it had become Severus' job to brew the potion, deliver it, and then stand around until Lupin had actually swallowed the disgusting brew, which could take a while. And then repeat that every day for a week. As if he had nothing else to do.

Lupin had obviously seen him too, and was now heading in his direction.

"May I have a word with you, Severus?"

"Make it quick, Lupin."

"Alright then. There is a full moon in ten days, and I need to know if I can count on you for the Wolfsbane potion."

"Do you think I would run any risk of endangering the school?" Snape said coldly.

"No, but…"

"You will have the potion at the usual time." Severus turned his back on the Defense master in dismissal.

"Were you trying to remind me not to take that for granted?" he heard Lupin's voice calmly behind him.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Last month. You were gone."

"Are you suggesting I should have come back from holiday to spend a day brewing Wolfsbane?" His lip curled as he turned back around to face Lupin. "If I recall correctly, I am only responsible for feeding you Wolfsbane during the _school year_."

"Severus, you know as well as I do that you haven't missed a month in more than two years. And I hope you know I am grateful for that."

"I am not interested in your gratitude," Snape said with derision.

"All I am trying to say is that next time, I would appreciate it if you would let me know ahead of time if I need to make other arrangements." There was a slight edge to Lupin's voice now.

"I am sure you figured it out in time."

"No thanks to you."

"You have dealt with the transformation for years before I started brewing the potion for you. I am sure you can handle one month out of the year on your own."

"Severus, do you know how much harder the transformation is without the Wolfsbane?"

"You are obviously here and alive and well, so I assume you survived," Snape said with a sneer. "Just for curiosity's sake, what did you do?"

"Turns out I didn't need to worry about it. I received a notice from _Slug and Jiggers _that someone bought one moon's supply for me, and they would have it delivered. They wouldn't tell me who." He looked over with a frown to where McGonagall and Dumbledore sat in deep conversation. "Seems one of our colleagues put two and two together. I can't think of anyone else who would have known you were gone."

As even-keeled as the werewolf was most of the time, being seen as a charity case stuck in his craw. That at least was one thing Severus could understand.

"How very nice for you," he said disdainfully. "Is that all then?"

As nothing further was forthcoming from Lupin, Severus returned to his office. Chatting with werewolves was not on the list of things to do for the day. He had wasted too much time already, and there was a requistions list he needed to get finished before dinner.

-

A few hours later, Severus headed up the revolving staircase to the Headmaster's study, finished list in hand, and knocked.

When he opened the door, he could hear the voice of Albus Dumbledore. "…welcome to Hogwarts, and I am sure you will make a fine addition to our staff. If you will go see Professor McGonagall now she will show you to your quarters."

At that, a figure rose from the deep armchair in front of Dumbledore's desk. Severus looked on with disbelief. Medium height, angular build, brown hair up in a slightly messy bun – it couldn't be.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore motioned him forward. "Miss Hannigan, may I introduce…"

At hearing his name the figure had sharply turned around. "Oh no. Not you." Her eyes were wide as her hand flew up to her mouth.

"Ah, I see you have met our Potions master already, then," Dumbledore said with a delighted smile.


	9. Clueless spy

"Potions master?" the woman asked dumbly. "And your name is Severus…?

"Snape. Severus Snape. Our Potions master and Head of Slytherin House," Dumbledore said, a bit puzzled, when Severus didn't answer. He looked back and forth between the two teachers who stood stiffly facing each other, eyes locked.

"Hannah _Hannigan_?" Snape seemed to have finally found his voice.

"Yes?" she answered tentatively.

"Any relation to Frank Hannigan, by any chance?" His eyes started to glitter dangerously.

"My father."

Severus turned and strode from the room. Hannah murmured a quick excuse to the headmaster, and hurried after him. "Severus, wait!"

He was already half way down the corridor by the time she reached the bottom of the moving staircase.

"Wait!" She took off after him in a near run. When she finally caught up with him, she grabbed the sleeve of his robe. "Please stop and talk to me."

He pivoted and glared at her, his face angrier than she had ever seen it. "What do you want?"

She looked at him helplessly. "I'm sorry. I was surprised…I didn't expect…"

"Don't play dumb," Severus hissed.

"What do you mean?"

"If you are Frank Hannigan's daughter, you must have known who I was. The… little _run-in_ he and I had was front page news for several days, after all. You would have recognized me. Please don't insult my intelligence." He turned and started walking again.

"Severus, I try to stay as uninformed about my father's business as is humanly possible." Hannah was trying her best to keep up with his long strides. "To tell you the truth, I had very little contact with the Wizarding world over the last year. So please excuse my ignorance, but…"

"What a lovely little charade," Severus interrupted her, talking as to himself, without looking at her. "It must have pleased him to no end to know that his dear daughter was keeping an eye on me. Yes, I am sure he got quite a laugh out of that. Did he get you the job here, too?"

"You think I was spying on you for my father?" Hannah looked flabbergasted.

"A bit too much of a coincidence, don't you agree?" he snarled. "The daughter of someone who would like nothing better than to dig up dirt on me, showing up at the remote village where I am staying, striking up a conversation…" _What a fool he had been._ _He must be turning soft. How could he ever have thought that…_

His thoughts were interrupted when he realized that she had stopped abruptly. When he looked back at her, he saw with surprise that she stood there looking every bit as if she was trying hard not to laugh out loud.

"Pray tell me what's so amusing?" he demanded in irritation.

"Is that what you think? That I was gathering information for him? Severus, I have no idea what happened between the two of you. Honestly, I don't." She sat down on the base of a column "But let's just assume for a moment that you are correct. So – I know that you take your coffee black and your tea with milk. I know that you prefer red wine to white, and that in particular you love Beaujolais and hate Chablis. I know that you consider _Alchemy of Fourteenth Century France_ gripping literature, think Sherlock Holmes is 'tolerable' and Shakespeare highly over-rated. I know you prefer dark over milk chocolate, that you hate the taste of capers, but like olives; black, not green. I know you _definitely_ don't like nicknames, and that winter is your favorite season. And about a hundred other equally scintillating tidbits. The only items I can recall that might be of even the slightest interest to him would be your opinions on the Werewolf Acts, which he shares, by the way, and that you think the Ministry is run inefficiently, an opinion which is shared by half of Wizardom." She grinned. "Sorry, it just struck me as funny. If I am a spy, I think I'm the most useless, clueless spy to ever have graced the face of the earth."

She looked up at him, took in the expression on his face, closed like a barred window. She stopped smiling.

"I_ am_ glad to see you," she said softly, as she stood up. "I'm sorry for my reaction in there. I was… surprised."

A bitter smile played around the corners of his mouth. "So you say."

"I would like to be friends, still. Is that possible?"

"You are Frank Hannigan's daughter."

"I take it that is a 'no'."

He looked at her coldly. "I have no reason to want to continue a relationship of any kind beyond the professional."

"I suppose you don't," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'll see you around, then?"

He nodded curtly and turned to leave. Almost as in afterthought, he turned around. "What are you teaching?"

"English Composition."

_Miss Nose-in-a-Book. It made sense. Merlin, he would have to see her every day. Frank Hannigan's offspring. And it had been mainly at his behest that the position had been created. The irony. _

"One more thing," he said. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone of our previous encounter."

"Of course."

As he turned and walked off, one small, treacherous thought jumped into his head, a thought he was quick to banish - the thought that there was probably not another person in the world who knew or cared how he took his coffee and tea.

-o-0-o-

That evening, Hannah sat down on her bed, legs crossed under her. She looked around – it was a more than adequate room. It would take her a while to get it to look the way she wanted, but she could already see it in her mind's eye. It would do. Nicely.

She had unpacked her suitcase, and sorted two boxes of books into the bookcase. Her quilt was on the bed, lending warmth to the otherwise still quite barren room. There was a small fireplace in the parlor, and a large window with a view over the lake in the bedroom. To her astonishment, there had even been a small kitchen row in the parlor corner. The house elf who had taken her to her room from McGonagall's office had been quite surprised. Such accoutrements didn't usually seem to be part of the package for teaching staff quarters. She wondered who was responsible for it – maybe Filius; he was probably the only one in the school who knew her well enough to have made the request. Well, the only one who knew her at all. Other than Severus.

She stretched, and with a sigh took a small diary with a leather-tooled binding out of the drawer of her night stand. A rueful look on her face, she opened it to an entry several days back.

_Today I waved farewell to my lovely (though, I grant you, quite one-sided) mirage of a summer romance. In the end, it was just about perfect. No loose ends and no regrets. The memory is tied up with paper, ribbon, and a bow, ready to be set on the shelf. So goodbye, Severus, wherever you are; I hope life treats you well. Summer would have not been the same without you. Later, when I take the package off the shelf and look at the memories, there you will be - tall, dark, and intriguing. And I will smile. _

For a moment she closed her eyes, remembering the feel of the sand beneath her feet, the cool evening breeze, his arm around her shoulders. Then, flipping through the pages until she found a pristine white one, she got out her quill.

_Well, my first day at Hogwarts, and my lovely summer romance just got plunged down into the icy waters of reality, where it never would have had a chance to exist in the first place. _

She leaned back against the pillows, untangled her legs, and propped the book up on her knees.

_It turns out Severus is a teacher here, and that there is obviously a lot of bad blood between him and my father. So he jumped to the worst conclusions._

_In a way, it is a bit of a relief, because it certainly saved me from a bunch of frantic back-pedalin__g. No awkward explanations necessary now as to why I get all carried away one day and just want to be 'friends' the next._

_Even so, there was this look of distrust on his face. I have seen him look angry, irritated, indifferent, embarrassed, amused, detached - but he never looked at me like that. And all I wanted was to make that look go away, to make him realize I didn't deserve it. _

Hannah closed the book with a snap. It was all for the best, she was sure. Yes, definitely. She sighed again. There was one other thing she was sure of – she would need to find out exactly what had happened between Severus and her father.

-o-o-o-

Two days later, all the staff had arrived. As Severus sat down for breakfast, he saw Hannah further down the table, talking animatedly to Filius Flitwick.

Next to him, Minerva McGonagall sniffed. "She's Frank Hannigan's daughter, did you know that? I just can't stand that man. Wonder what she's doing here," she said, suspicion in her voice.

"Teaching Composition, I believe," Severus said dryly.

Minerva looked daggers at him. "I know that. But don't you think there is more to it than that? It just seems odd."

Severus shrugged. "We'll see."

Minerva was still looking at the newest staff member. "Well, she seems to get along all right with Filius. They're on a first-name basis, apparently. He came into my office while I was giving her an orientation. Seemed quite familiar with each other." She looked on disapprovingly. "I tried to ask him about her later, and he basically told me to mind my own beeswax, and if I wanted to know anything, I could ask her."

Severus hid a smirk. The mental picture of the diminutive Charms master standing up to the tall, stern deputy headmistress was somewhat amusing.

"Still," she continued, "I don't know why Albus would hire anyone with close ties to the Ministry. Why would we want to invite them to stick their long noses into our business? No, I don't like it, not one little bit."

At that moment, the owls made their way in, hooting and flapping, delivering letters and packages. A screech owl flew over in his direction, landed on the table, and dropped a package in front of him. He looked at the plain, brown-paper-wrapped box in surprise as he handed the bird a piece of toast - he had not expecting a delivery. Turning the package over in his hands, he looked for the sender's name or address and found nothing. All of a sudden, warning bells went off inside him. Carefully, he stowed the package beneath his seat unopened. He would look at it later, when there wasn't an audience.


	10. Wolfsbane

Down the table, Hannah, still deep in conversation with Filius, studiously avoided looking in Severus' direction.

"…and I can't tell you how grateful I am that you submitted my resume. I would have never gotten the job without your recommendation."

The Charms master lowered his head bashfully. "It was nothing," he muttered.

"That's what you think - I could've been stuck teaching in Muggle schools for the rest of my life. This may be the best things that's ever happened to me." The fact that Hannah's voice wobbled slightly as she said this did nothing to alleviate his discomfiture.

His cheeks turned pink. "Really, it was nothing at all," he mumbled.

Hannah smiled down at him. "How long have you been teaching here now?"

Flitwick brightened considerably at the change of topic. "Oh, let me see – this is my twenty-ninth year now, is it not? Yes, sounds about right. "

She looked duly impressed at that number. "Any words of wisdom?"

He shook his mane of white hair. "I'm just old, not wise," he said with a chuckle. When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand. "You will muddle through just fine."

"I just hope I don't muddle it up," Hannah said wistfully. "I'm sailing uncharted waters here. English in a Magic school."

"Don't you worry," he said, patting her arm reassuringly. "I'm sure they will love you."

"I wish I had your confidence," she said soberly, daring to look up the table for the first time just to meet the disapproving glare of the Deputy Headmistress.

"Don't mind _her_," Flitwick said, following her gaze. "She'll get used to you. She's a dear, really. It's just that…"

"…my father is not exactly a welcome figure here," Hannah finished the sentence for him. "Yes, I got that impression. Do they really think I'll run to Daddy and report any dastardly deeds?" There was bitterness in her voice. "You know that he is every bit as happy that I am here as they are, don't you? He and Dumbledore haven't seen eye to eye on a single thing in over twenty years."

Flitwick shrugged apologetically. "Well, we've had some trouble with the Ministry in the last few years. They don't know what to expect yet. It may just take a bit of time for them to come around."

"I hope you're right." Hannah took a sip of her coffee and leaned back, cradling the warm cup in her hands. "In the meantime, I need to figure out the best way to teach the lower years how to write a decent essay. I'm sure they will be thrilled to get more work added to their load."

Absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the table, Filius sat deep in thought for a moment. Then he turned to her, his face suddenly beaming. "I just had an idea. Let me think it over for a bit, and we can talk tomorrow." His deep blue eyes peered up at her from under bushy white eyebrows with a twinkle of excitement. "It might just work."

"I can't wait," Hannah said with a grin. "Any help you can give will be much appreciated." She stood up as Flitwick hopped down from his chair to get back to work. "See you at lunch?"

Flitwick shook his head. "Probably not, dear. If I don't see you before then - come to my quarters after dinner tomorrow, and we'll talk things over."

-o-

Meanwhile, Severus stood up, surreptitiously pulled the package out from under his chair, and made his way down to the dungeon classroom. He placed the package on the flagstone floor and, walking around it with slow steps, considered his options. Finally making a decision, he walked to the far end of the dungeon. His wand drawing a slow, invisible circle in front of him, Severus watched as the twine obeyed his command and smoothly unraveled itself. Then, the brown wrapping paper unfolded slowly and came off, revealing a plain white box. He lowered his wand and waited.

Nothing.

No explosion, nothing strange. Cautiously, he moved closer to the box. There were still no markings that would have given a clue to its origins. With a soft wave of his wand, the lid gently slid off the box and floated down to the side. A square envelope on top still hid the contents from sight.

Another barely perceptible wand motion, and the envelope lifted up and started floating towards him in the flickering light of the torches.

"Practicing hover charms?" a mild voice said from behind him.

The envelope fell to the ground as Severus closed his eyes for a moment, lowered his wand, and exhaled in exasperation. He at the same time hated and admired the Headmaster's talent for always showing up exactly when and where he was least wanted.

"Just opening my mail," said Severus tersely. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh no, carry on." Dumbledore sat down at one of the student desks. "You know, it's been a long time since I have been behind one of these." He chuckled.

"Really, Headmaster, you must be quite busy…"

"Open it, Severus." The twinkle had gone out of his eyes.

Slowly and resentfully, the Potions master turned back around. A moment later, the envelope was in his hand. Sliding the tip of his wand under the flap, he forced it open, and withdrew the piece of paper inside.

The handwriting on it was rounded, almost childlike.

_You work and plan and labor, and just when you think things are going the way they are supposed to go, this creature shows up. You don't know it is there; it tunnels and digs below the surface and destroys all you have worked for. One day you turn around and everything is gone. Everything._

_The only good mole is a dead mole, wouldn't you agree?_

There was no signature.

He put down the missive and walked over to the box. A dead mole lay on top of a bed of shredded newspapers. Another muttered Charm, and the small black animal hovered grotesquely, suspended in mid-air, slowly turning. Severus dispassionately looked at it with narrowed eyes.

It hadn't been dead for too long, still stiff with rigor mortis. No discernable wound or cause of death. The killing curse, maybe? At least this solved the mystery of the identity of the creature he had found on his bed.

Dumbledore had summoned the letter, and was looking at it with a frown. "Death Eaters, then?"

"Death Eaters, other Dark wizards that followed Voldemort, or anyone who wants to make it look like one of the above," Severus agreed dryly, still eying the content of the box. "There's nothing conclusive here. My work as a spy is not exactly a state secret any more."

"Any suspicions?"

Severus shrugged. "I have some ideas, yes. Nothing concrete at this point."

A look of concern on his face, Dumbledore got up from behind the desk. "Anything you want me to do?"

"No. I can handle this myself." He walked to the entrance and held the heavy door open with a slightly exaggerated gesture. "I do need to get started on the Wolfsbane potion if Lupin is to get his first dose today, so if you will excuse me?"

The Headmaster took the hint, walked through the door. "If you are sure…"

Three steps into the corridor, he turned around again and took off his glasses. "Oh, one more thing," he said casually, looking down while cleaning the half-moon shaped lenses on the purple fabric of his robe. "Nice girl, that Miss Hannigan. You know her, of course?"

"We have met," Severus said non-committally.

"Is that so?" Dumbledore held his glasses up to the light to check for remaining smudges.

"Headmaster, I really have work to do…"

"Oh yes, that's right." The Headmaster put his glasses back on, and peered at him over the rim. "Well, I better go then."

Severus was just about to close the door, when Dumbledore turned yet again, the look of concern back on his face..

"Take care of yourself, Severus."

The Potions master exasperatedly returned to his classroom when the tall old wizard finally disappeared around the corner.

About time. Really, what was it with all of them getting bent out of shape over some small dead animals? First Minerva, then Dumbledore. Take care, watch out for yourself. Next thing it would be the Fat Friar telling him to keep constant vigilance. As if he hadn't always been perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Still frowning, he started to gather the ingredients he would need for the Wolfsbane potion.

_Who had sent the package?_

He took down the jar of dried yellow flowers of Aconite and weighed out the required amount on the brass scale. Rubbing the flowers between his fingers, he tested for the right consistency before starting to grind them in the mortar with rhythmic, practiced motions.

_Which of the Death Eaters were unaccounted for?_

Setting aside the fine yellow powder, he removed a bundle of leaves from the water-filled glass bowl in which they had been biding time since he had cut them earlier that morning. Leaves of Aconite – in the winter, he would have to make do with dried, but fresh, green leaves definitely produced a superior product. He picked through the large, hand-shaped leaves to find one that was undamaged and unblemished, and proceeded to cut it into hair-thin strips. A quarter-ounce of Luna Moth wings were the next thing to join the line-up on the work table.

There was that idiot Crabbe, who, to Snape's very great surprise, seemed to have had enough mental wherewithal to defect to foreign shores before the end.  
No, this didn't seem like something Crabbe would to do. For one thing, he couldn't spell well enough to have produced that note.

Smirking, Severus layered the moth wings in a porcelain bowl, covered them with essence of witch hazel, and set them to soak.

_Mulciber, Rookwood, the three Lestranges, Goyle, Macnair, – all dead, most of them fallen in the last three months of the war. Most of the rest were in Azkaban.  
Dolohov. He had escaped, and had not been heard from since. But Dolohov's mode of operation was brute force. No, not Dolohov._

Next, a small, sky-blue vial of dew gathered during a New Moon, and a dropper. He double-checked the dropper carefully to make sure it was perfectly clean. Any contamination would be disasterous.

_Pettigrew. It had to be Pettigrew. _He lined up the next three ingredients: a small pile of slippery elm bark, two _rheum palmatum_ roots, and concentrated armadillo bile – yellow-green paste in a small jar. Dipping a glass rod into the bile, he brought it to the tip of his tongue – the only way to reliably check for freshness. He grimaced. Definitely fresh enough.

After expertly cutting the bark and root into pea-sized pieces, he walked to the cupboard that held his private stores, and unlocked it.

_It would be just like Pettigrew to do something like this. Sneaky, insinuating…that simpering little sycophant. To actually follow through on the threat – now that would be a different story. Did he have the gumption?_

From the top shelf, he removed a small brown paper bag. Topcoat hair from a werewolf – it had been the most expensive ingredient at one point. Since Lupin had regained control of his mind during the transformation thanks to the Wolfsbane, he had been more than happy to pull out some of his hairs to contribute to next month's batch. At least that way the werewolf saved the school a Knut or two. Severus sneered at the thought as he carefully removed fifteen hairs from the bag, making sure they were of the same thickness and length.

He placed the steel cauldron on the fire, regulating the flames carefully. Time to start.

For the next six hours, any thoughts not related to potion making were driven from his mind as all his concentration and skill were required during the brewing of the tricky potion. There was no room for error here – one tiny slip, and he could start over again.

When he finally strained the finished potion into a crystal decanter (the last step of the process), he straightened up and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. His back was aching after standing almost motionless for so long, bent over the steaming cauldron. He stretched lightly, first one way, then the other. A growling noise from his midsection reminded him that lunch had come and gone hours ago. Lupin had better be grateful.

_Pettigrew…_ _He had overheard_ _the Animagus tell Avery, his closest 'friend' among Voldemort's inner circle, how disappointed he had been when after his first transformation he realized he was – a rat. His friends' animal alter egos were impressive – a huge dog, a magnificent stag. And he – a rat. A common gray household pest. Not what he had hoped._

Severus poured some of the murky liquid into a large copper goblet. For a moment, grey-blue smoke hovered over the surface, then dissipated.

_Pettigrew_ _had found out later that it came in handy, being a rat. Being able to crawl into the smallest of spaces, going where no one else could go, disappearing quickly even where spells made Apparition impossible. Yes, quite handy. _

He took the goblet and with determined steps walked out the door towards the office of the Defense master. Today, there might be something Lupin could do for _him_ for a change.


	11. Moles

As Severus entered Remus' office, the werewolf turned from the Grindylow tank and greeted him with a lop-sided smile. "Time already?"

Severus placed the goblet on the desk. "Hurry up, I don't have all day," he said in a sour tone.

Remus eyed the goblet with a grimace and picked it up with both hands. Lifting the rim to his mouth, he took a long swallow and made a face. "I swear, it gets more vile every month."

"I can always leave and take it with me," Severus said stiffly. "If you'd rather…"

Remus sighed. "It's just a joke. You know what I mean."

Severus stood against the door frame, arms crossed. He wasn't in the mood for jokes. He wasn't in the mood for Lupin. He certainly wasn't in the mood to make the bloody potion every month. Not that anyone gave a Nogtail's hairy rear end. But really, was it too much to expect the wolf to at least not whine about it?

Leaning against the desk, Remus took a couple more sips. "So how are preparations going? Are you ready for the next school year?"

Severus didn't even deign that worthy of a response. Of course he was ready – he firmly believed in not putting off until tomorrow what could be done today. Some of his colleagues should take a page out of that book.

And he wasn't in the mood for small talk.

Remus pointed to a chair. "Might as well sit down – this will be another few minutes, I'm afraid."

Scowling, Severus briefly considered just staying where he was – but after standing that long, the chair looked inviting. He stiffly sat down and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

"By the way, I asked the Headmaster, Flitwick, and Minerva about the potion delivery last month. They seemed genuinely surprised," said Remus quietly after swallowing another mouthful. There was a somewhat abashed expression on his face. "It occurred to me that they weren't the only ones who knew you were going out of town."

"How fascinating." Severus said acerbically. He would have been happier if it had occurred to the werewolf to just keep his mouth shut for a few minutes. Why could the bloody idiot not leave well enough alone?

"Did _you_...?" The forbidding, black look on Severus' face made Remus realize that it would probably not be in anyone's best interest to complete the question. He let his voice fade out, and cleared his throat. "Anyways, Severus, thank you." He pointed to the goblet. "For that, and for… well, if there is ever anything I can do for you…" he finished lamely.

Severus struggled with himself for minute. "There is one thing," he finally said through clenched teeth.

Remus' eyes widened in surprise. "Yes? Go on?" He sat down on the edge of the desk, facing his colleague and former class mate.

"Tell me about Pettigrew," Severus said.

Remus' lifted his eyebrows in mild amusement. "I would have thought that in the last few years you'd have had a lot more contact with him than I have."

"Do you think the Death Eaters are some sort of social club?" Severus said coldly. "I had other things to do than _fraternize."_

Remus cleared his throat. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"I've received rather… unpleasant surprises recently. One was delivered to my bedroom. It had to be someone with knowledge of the school. I wouldn't expect many people to know the whereabouts of my private quarters."

"Threats?"

"Yes."

"And you suspect Peter?"

Severus simply lifted an eyebrow. That much should at this point be obvious.

Remus rubbed a finger over his upper lip. "Don't know how much I can tell you that you wouldn't already know. One piece of advice I'd give you is not to underestimate him."

Severus's lip curled. "I didn't ask for your _advice_. Just tell me your assessment of him."

"Very well. My _assessment _is that he can be quite dangerous," Remus said mildly.

"That simpering, stupid, cowering little toady?" Severus gave a harsh little laugh. "What has he ever done except ride on the coat tails of others?"

"He's not the most quick-witted, especially under pressure. Did lousy on exams. You would easily be able to dispatch him in a one-on-on duel. But if he has time to plan…" said Remus thoughtfully as he took another sip. "He would make sure the odds are stacked in his favor.

"The general assumption is that he is a weak, simpering thing. But just think of all he has done so far." Remus ticked the points off on his fingers. "He managed to become an Animagus. Yes, he had help, but still, quite an achievement. He managed to fool us for over a year while passing information to Voldemort. And he pulled off a rather brilliant plan when he framed Sirius for Lily and James' murders." There was bitterness in his voice now. "Thirteen dead Muggles in a single explosion. No, he has much more ability as a wizard than we gave him credit for. Even if he is a sorry excuse for a human being."

Tipping the goblet up, he drained the last of the potion, gagging slightly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and handed the cup back. "Not to mention the fact that he was almost single-handedly responsible for nursing Voldemort back to health. And that he brewed the potion that restored his physical body. You're the Potions master – do you think just anyone could've done that?"

Severus looked at him calculatingly, but didn't reply.

"And keep in mind that he probably knows this castle better than any other person alive," Remus continued. "Between our school years and the many years spent as a Weasley's pet, he probably knows hidden corners and passages that we don't even know exist. Yes, I do think he is dangerous. If I were you, I would ward every wall and every opening, no matter how small."

"I repeat, I didn't ask for your advice," Severus said sharply as he stood up.

He was half way out the door when the werewolf called after him. "Watch out for yourself, Severus."

The Potions master stopped for just a moment without turning around, his eyes narrowing briefly as one hand clutched the goblet and the other closed tightly around his wand. _Self-control_, he reminded himself. As satisfying as the image of Lupin wearing his tongue as a tie for a week would be, it wasn't worth the repercussions. He made himself keep walking, heading down the corridor with long strides. Lupin, McGonagall, Dumbledore – he swore, the next person to start fussing at him would get something to fuss _about._

_-o-_

The wizard they had talked about was not too far away, sitting in a tattered armchair in the back bedroom of a deserted farmhouse. He had spent most of the winter in his animal shape – it was much easier to find warmth and shelter that way. Yet the animal nature made his thoughts cloudy and vague, just shreds and pieces of ideas.

That was over for now. He had had plenty of time to plan this summer. The lonely farmhouse was a good place to think.

He was alone now, for the first time in ages. It was a strange feeling, and he didn't like it.

First, there had been James, Sirius, and Remus. After that, years as part of the Weasley family – always people in the Burrow, always people at Hogwarts. And then there had been his Master – he had barely been out of the Dark Lord's presence for the last three years. And now there was no one. He was alone.

His thoughts went back in time, to when he had still been happy.

James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. They had been inseparable…

Sirius - things just came to him naturally. His good looks made the girls swoon as he swaggered by. Reckless, brave, loyal, daring. An illustrious name, an old family. Sirius had everything going for him.

James, the hero of the Quidditch field. Handsome in an artfully disheveled way, very sure of his abilities. Plenty of money, a brilliant student.

Twin stars, attracting all around them.

And then there was Remus. He didn't have the flashy sparkle of the other two. But he had other qualities – patience, a good listening ear, intelligence and magical ability to match theirs. Not that he ever would have truly stood up to them – no, he, like Peter, was too afraid of losing the friendship. But it had been Remus who had talked them out of the most hare-brained schemes, kept them grounded in reality to a certain extend.

He shuddered to think what his school days would have been like without their friendship – silly, pudgy Pettigrew. There was nothing he had to offer them – not looks, not brilliance, not money, not connections, nothing but admiration and adoration. Yet they had taken to him - offering friendship, looking out for him, including him, making sure everyone knew he was part of their little group and under their protection. No one had been allowed to make fun of him except_ them_. They were nothing if not loyal; he could not fault them for that. And for a while he had been content with just being a lesser planet in their solar system.

That contentment had ceased. It had been Severus Snape who had caused lingering discontentment to crystallize into active dissatisfaction.

Severus Snape. He had nothing to commend him except cold intellect. His personality could curdle milk; his looks made the girls snicker behind his back. Greasy, sallow, hook-nosed black bat. He had no money, and had gotten beaten by James on the Quidditch field every time Gryffindor played Slytherin. And yet Severus had become a Somebody.

The Dark Mark was an admission ticket to a select club. The mask and hood were great equalizers – looks didn't matter; names, ability, accomplishments did not matter as much as loyalty. When the Dark Lord's servants approached him, when he had found out that Snape had become one of Voldemort's inner circle, it had put in Peter's reach something he had never experienced before – the chance to be an equal member of an exclusive group.

Peter had seen Voldemort grow stronger, seen him rise, higher and higher, destined for dominion. It had been intoxicating to find out that this powerful being wanted him. For the first time ever, Peter had something to offer, had power, had influence.

His friendship with the other three and access to the Order enabled him to pass on information about Dumbledore's activities that no one else among the Death Eaters would know. And later, the birth of Lily and James' son had given him an ace in the hole – the Dark Lord wanted that baby. For the first time, Peter had felt truly important.

Things had come to a head, that night in October so many year ago…

"_You have to see reason, James. I'm too obvious a choice. I've called Dumbledore to cast the Fidelius Charm. No one will suspect Peter."_

"_Peter is our friend, too. Why should they suspect him any less than you?" Lily had asked, looking up from where she was cutting buttered bread into bite-size pieces to feed to Harry._

"_Oh come on, who would expect Wormtail to be chosen for something this important?" Sirius said with a grin. "Just look at him – he looks harmless as a mouse, doesn't he? Oh, pardon me,_ a rat," _he added with a mocking bow in Peter's direction. "If given the choice between Remus, me, and Peter, who in his right mind would choose him?"_

James had laughed, and given him a good-natured punch in the arm. And Peter had played along, laughing sheepishly at the joke, and hugging to himself the knowledge that in a few hours or days, he would be able to hand the Potters and their boy to the Dark Lord on a silver platter. He had never felt so powerful in his life.

It was ironic that it had turned out the wizard who had caused him to turn traitor had turned out a traitor himself. He had made his way back into the Dark Lord's favor after the first incidence, persuading them all that he had only pretended to be a spy for Dumbledore to gain access to his circle, passing useless bits of information to Dumbledore only to gather useful facts for the Dark side. And in truth, no one had been able to prove that anything Severus had done had harmed their cause. Until the Potter fiasco, things had been going rather well.

But then, at the last battle, it had become clear where Snape's loyalties truly lay. That it had all been an elaborate façade.

And now he would have to pay. Once Severus had suffered, once he had seen all he valued destroyed, once he had been Dementor-kissed -- then Peter would leave for good, go somewhere far away and start a new life.

But first, he would see Severus Snape brought down.


	12. Chocoballs

A/N: The Flitwick I see in my head from reading the books doesn't resemble the one in the movie too much. He is much slighter (truly 'tiny', not just 'short') and has the 'shock of white hair' described in the book – I picture him with an Einstein-esque mop of hair, and a longish, white, goatee-style beard. Many thanks to lalaluu for beta-ing this chapter for me!

* * *

The next evening, Hannah made her way to Ravenclaw Tower. She still wasn't too sure of her way around the castle, and even though one of the portraits she had asked for help had sent her the wrong way - _never ask directions from the painting of a court jester again_, she made a mental note - she managed to get there only ten minutes late.

Filius's rooms were located near the base of the tower, close to his office. The door opened as soon as she knocked. "Come on in, come on in," the Charms master beckoned her, a delighted smile on his face. With a flick of his wand he charmed the couch to enlarge to normal proportions, making it look oddly out of place among the pint-sized furnishing. "Do have a seat."

Another swish, and a tea tray appeared on the low table. Filius poured the steaming, golden liquid into thin bone china cups. "Biscuits?" he said, offering her the plate.

"No, thank you. The tea will do nicely."

For the next fifteen minutes conversation jumped from topic to topic – the health and well-being of Flitwick's sister and her four children, the merits of Darjeeling tea over Assam, Hannah's first few days at Hogwarts. Finally she brought the conversation back to what was foremost in her mind.

"So, did you have time to think of something?"

Flitwick beamed up at her. "Indeed I did. No extra assignments, and the students will probably take to your lessons much easier this way. Let me tell you…"

He outlined his idea for her. It was brilliant, really. But…

"..they'll never go for it. At least not Severus and Professor McGonagall. They are…"

"_Severus_?" Flitwick interrupted, lifting his eyebrows with a quizzical look. "I didn't know you were on a first name basis with our Potions master already?"

She blushed slightly, and developed a sudden interest in her feet. "I met him while I was on holiday. He stayed in the same town. Our paths crossed a few times."

Flitwick looked confused. "He doesn't seem very friendly to you, does he? Well, not that he ever… well, you know what I mean."

Hannah sighed.

Time to fess up.

"It was like this..." After making Filius promise to keep it a secret, she quickly told him about meeting Severus in St. Comgan and their time together, leaving out some of the more emotional moments on her part. She ended with an account of the disheartening reunion in Dumbledore's office.

"…so you see, he is not going to appreciate my meddling in his affairs. And I'm sure that is exactly how he would think of it. As far as the other teachers – Lupin and Sprout seem friendly enough, but Sinistra and Hooch have been every bit as stand-offish as McGonagall. I'm not really worried about Trewlawney and Binns, they seem to live in little worlds of their own, but as for the rest…"

Flitwick smiled a mischievous grin. "You just wait and see. I bet you a one-pound box of chocoballs that I can get them to see the light."

"Deal," she said, grinning back at him. It would be worth the pound of chocoballs and more if he succeeded.

He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Now, at the staff meeting tomorrow, this is what I want you to do…"

-o-

Severus was not overly fond of the mandatory meetings. Usually there was little of real importance discussed. He entered the room just as the meeting was called to order, and took his customary seat.

After the usual school business had been taken care of – Severus barely managed to suppress a yawn – the Headmaster cleared his throat and stood up.

"I am sure most of you have met her already, but I would like to formally introduce Hannah Hannigan, our Composition mistress. She will teach basic writing and research skills to the first three years and also offer tutoring classes for the upper years. Miss Hannigan, please stand up."

Hannah rose awkwardly. The smattering of applause that greeted her introduction was decidedly thin. Severus smiled grimly at that. He had not bothered at all, keeping his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

"Um…well, thank you very much for the warm welcome." Her voice shook a little. "I am very grateful for the opportunity to teach here, and I hope you'll soon see improvement in…"

Just then, Filius Flitwick climbed up on his chair and stood up, so he could be seen by everyone. His baby blue wizard's hat sat on his head at a rakish angle, and there was a determined look on his face. He raised his hand. "If I may ask a question?"

"Yes?" Hannah looked puzzled.

"First of all, welcome to Hogwarts. We are all pleased to have you, I'm sure. I've been thinking though, and, well - are you planning on giving the students written assignments?"

"Well yes, naturally, how else are they going to learn?"

"I have to admit, I _am _a bit worried. The students already have written assignments in almost all their other subjects. I'm quite concerned that it will just be too much for the poor little dears."

Severus snorted loudly. Flitwick eagerly turned to him.

"Severus, let me ask you something. Do you think a student will generally take more care with a potion that will be bottled and taken to the hospital wing, or one that will just be Vanished or poured down the drain when completed?"

The Potions master eyed him with drawn eyebrows.

"Well?" Filius asked mildly.

"The first one, of course," Severus answered reluctantly.

"And why is that?"

Severus shrugged. "Because it will actually be used."

Flitwick turned to McGonagall. "How about you, Minerva? Wouldn't you agree that students are much more motivated to learn a spell well that they can actually use? Something practical? Rather than turning teapots into tortoises?"

"Well, yes, I suppose - " she peered at him through her square glasses with narrowed eyes. "But I object to…"

Filius ignored her and continued brightly. "So you both agree that students are more likely to learn if the application is practical? Part of real life?"

Severus looked at the Charms master with a scowl. He would have given a lot right now to know where exactly the tiny wizard was going with this. "I suppose so," he said grudgingly.

"I'm so glad that you're in agreement." Flitwick clapped his hands together. "Because I have an idea. Miss Hannigan could teach the necessary skills in class - practice paragraphs, spelling, grammar and such. But then, instead of assigning extra essays - why not let the students use the skills on the papers already assigned for other classes? Let them apply the skills to an essay on the properties of Wormwood instead of making them write about what they did last summer. I'm sure students would be more likely to learn if they are working on _practical _assignments with practical applications, as my esteemed colleague here has just said." He gave a nod to the Potions master.

Severus opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Well, yes, he more or less had just said that, hadn't he? He sat up.

There was a murmur of voices as several of the other teachers nodded in agreement.

"What a marvelous idea," Hannah said, a sparkle in her eyes. "It would be easy to do, really. Once the essay is marked for content, I can simply take the same paper and mark for language. Not much extra work for the students, and immediate practical application. A wonderful plan."

Severus now was thoroughly alarmed. The last thing he needed was this woman interfering with the assignments he gave his students, meddling in his affairs. He cast around for a valid objection. And found one. He rose from his chair.

"As much as I admire the dedication to the students' welfare my colleague is showing," he said silkily, nodding back at Flitwick, "I'm afraid I am in the habit of _promptly _returning the parchments after marking. _My_ classes are run efficiently and on a tight schedule. The delay in getting the essays to Miss Hannigan," he bowed in her direction with a smirk, "and, more importantly, getting them _back_, would throw off my schedule of assignments considerably. I simply will not put up with the inconvenience. This plan is absolutely not expedient for me. I'm sure my colleagues will agree?" After looking around darkly as if daring anyone to _dis_agree, he sat back down.

"Hear, hear," he heard Minerva muttering next to him.

Flitwick looked flustered. "Oh dear. Yes, Severus, that is certainly a valid concern… too much time. It sounded like such a good idea, didn't it? But yes, you are right…"

Severus smiled grimly. It looked like he had sunk _that _boat.

The tiny wizard looked positively heartbroken. "Oh, I just didn't think about that... I am so sorry… it seemed just such a good idea…? But if it weren't for the time issue, you would agree? I mean, you said practical application was good -" he looked pleadingly at the Potions master. His lower lip seemed to be quivering a bit, and he was wringing his hands.

The Charms master was universally liked. Several of his colleagues were now casting dark glances in Severus' direction at Flitwick's distress. He sighed inwardly. The little man really was too emotional and excitable. Very well, he could be magnanimous in victory.

"I suppose the idea was not entirely without merit. So if we are quite finished now?" With raised eyebrows, he looked around the room. "Some of us have work to do."

All of a sudden, Flitwick's face brightened considerably. He looked at Hannah triumphantly. "I have the solution. We just do our marking at the same time. Tandem marking, if you will. Would you be willing to come to my office? I mark the essay for content, hand it to you, and you mark for _your_ class while I start on the next one?"

She nodded. "Sure. That would be quite doable."

"The marking should be done at around the same time, and I will have my essays back right away. And since there are quite a few classes to go around, we can all take turns, and everyone would only need to be inconvenienced one afternoon per month or so." Flitwick rubbed his hands together gleefully as he turned to the Potions master. "Severus, I'm so glad we found a solution, it would have been such a shame not to be able to do this, would it not? I volunteer to go first. Is it settled then?" There was a general murmur of consent as he looked at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore nodded his assent with an amused smile.

"Well, all right then, that's all, carry on." Flitwick climbed off the chair and sat down, looking pleased as punch.

With a black scowl, Severus cast a sideways glance at the Charms master, who was smiling at him innocently. What had just happened? Somehow, it seemed that he had… He looked in consternation at Minerva. She just shrugged.

"Guess we'll be spending some time with the new Composition mistress," she hissed sardonically. "And all thanks to you, Severus. Good going."

"Don't blame it on me," he hissed back. "You were all in favor of 'practical application', were you not?"

She looked at him contemptuously. "Yes, but I wasn't the one bringing up that…"

They were interrupted as Hannah loudly cleared her throat. "Thank you so much for the wonderful ideas." She nodded at Flitwick, and then let her eyes wander to the other faces in the room. "And thank you _all_ so much for being so willing to accommodate this new class. I look very much forward to working with all of you."

As Hannah sat down, Filius turned to her and gave her an almost imperceptible wink.

Hannah fought hard to suppress a giggle as she looked at his smiling face.

_Nicely done, _she thought_. And I owe you a pound of chocoballs._


	13. Library

_Four weeks, and I am finally starting to believe this will actually work out. Today, I introduced the students to the joys of the limerick. As far as the rest of the staff is concerned, my job is to teach the students the most prosaic and utilitarian of writing skills. I think there really is nothing wrong with just letting them have fun and play with words on occasion, as long as I don't neglect the job for which I was hired._

_Be that as it may, the lesson was a great success. I told them they could write a limerick about any person they chose, from the Minister of Magic to a fellow student, and the assignment would be treated as anonymous and confidential. From the amount of giggles and whispers going on, it seems they had a lot of fun with their verses._

_Strangely enough, Severus seemed to figure in a great many of them. I thought one student's attempt to rhyme 'there once was a scary old wizard' with 'who instead of a heart had a gizzard'_ was _a bit desperate, though. _

_I saved some of the ones about Filius to give to him. He will get a kick out of them._

As Hannah closed the diary, a look of trepidation crossed her face as she thought about tomorrow – time to face the music. It was Severus' turn to provide the assignments for the Composition class, and for some unfathomable reason, she didn't think he would be thrilled.

-o-

The next morning she waited until after breakfast. She had to wait another few minutes when the headmaster, a hand on his arm and a worried expression on his face, stopped him on his way out to ask some sort of question. Severus made a short response before turning and striding off in obvious irrition. She hurried to catch up with him before he disappeared down into the dungeons.

"Severus, do you have a moment?"

He stopped and turned to her with narrowed eyes. "Yes?" His voice was not even remotely encouraging.

"I'd like to use your homework for the students' writing assignments this week. If you'd let me know the topics and length you are assigning the first and second years? We are using Professor Burbage's Muggle Studies assignment for the Third Years, so you don't have to worry about them. Oh, and we need to agree on a date and time to do the corrections."

Severus gave a small huff of exasperation. "Very well, you'll have the information on your desk by tomorrow. I'll be marking the assignments on Thursday evening at six - I assume you can find your way to my office?"

Hannah was not at all sure about that, but would have rather bitten her tongue off than admit as much. She would just have to hunt up a house elf or – heaven forbid – ask the portraits again.

"I'll be there," she said brightly.

"Is that all then?" he said coldly, already turning to go.

She nodded and watched him sail down the corridor, his black cloak billowing behind him most impressively.

She looked after him, a small line between her eyebrows.

More than once over the last few weeks, she had seen him in conversation with McGonagall and the headmaster, and each time there had been worry written on their faces. She could have sworn that there was something going on, but what? She supposed she could ask Filius; maybe he would know. Until then, there was still another mystery she needed to solve.

-o-

That evening, after she had completed her marking session with Professor Sprout, she made her way to the library. At this time of night, it was almost deserted – most of the students had already returned to their common rooms.

She approached the librarian's desk and smiled at the stern, grey-haired witch who occupied the chair behind it.

"Do we have back issues of the _Daily Prophet _around, do you know?"

"Of course we do," Madam Pince said contemptuously. "Reference section." With her chin, she indicated an area near the back.

Hannah thanked her and walked towards the section, only to be called back by a strident whisper.

"Professor…?"

"Hannigan."

"Just a reminder to put everything back exactly _as_ you found it and _where_ you found it. And you _are_ aware that newspapers and periodicals may not be removed from the library, are you not?" Madam Pince glared at her with her best imitation of a Ministry inquisitor, as if daring Hannah to disturb her carefully ordered kingdom.

"Certainly." She made her way over to the reference section still feeling the dagger-like stare of the librarian between her shoulder blades.

She had no problem finding the papers – they were in a bookcase, suspended by a hover spell, floating half an inch apart, around fifty to a stack. When she pushed down on one of them to see the front page, the rest yielded gently to the pressure, and then jumped spring-like back into position when released. A marvelous bit of Charm work, really.

Deciding to start with February, she began rifling through them, looking at the front pages.

_Death Eaters Attack Muggle Village_

_Former Auror Alastor Moody Killed in Battle_

_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Sighted Near Inverness_

_Attack near Hogwarts – Are the Children Safe?_

In March, the triumphant headline:

_VOLDEMORT KILLED_

She quickly skimmed the article. Half way down the page, she saw his name on a list of those wounded in battle:

_Severus Snape, 39, Potions professor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Heavens, he was only thirty-nine. She had guessed him to be in his late forties.

She quickly skimmed the issue, but there was nothing else. He had said the incident had been front page news, so she kept going.

_Harry Potter - Hero of the Hour_

_Death Eaters Sent to Azkaban_

_Memorial Service at Ministry Well Attended_

About two weeks' worth of papers later, her heart skipped a beat.

Below the headline, there was a picture of Severus.

It was a slightly grainy black-and-white. Escorted by two Aurors with wands trained on his heart, he was being led into the chamber of the Wizengamot. He looked terrible - gaunt, white, strained; his hair disheveled, his skin stretched tight over his cheek bones. Walking with a pronounced limp, he looked straight ahead, avoiding the camera. There was a hard, almost haughty expression on his face.

She felt her throat clench. Gently, her finger traced the outline of his face and figure as the picture stopped moving before resetting itself. Finally, she looked at the head-line above it.

_Death Eater to Face Wizengamot_

_Severus Snape, 39, was brought before the Wizengamot to face the charges brought against him. The accused, presently employed as Potions master at Hogwarts, was captured among the Death Eaters during the last battle waged against Tom Riddle, the former self-styled 'Lord Voldemort'. _

_Frank Hannigan, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, says, "In the next days you will see evidence that the accused behaved in unconscionable ways. He is, in fact, a Death Eater, has participated in acts of unspeakable violence and depravity, and will have to reap the consequences for his actions."_

_Meanwhile, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore, caused no small stir when he announced that he would resign his position temporarily to represent the accused in court. "I have nothing but the highest respect for my colleague. I feel quite confident that he will be acquitted on all counts," the Hogwarts Headmaster said._

Severus? A Death Eater? Icy fingers ran down her spine. She took that one and the next few papers, and sat down at an empty table. Quickly, she skimmed over the next issue.

_Testimony heard in Severus Snape case_. Another picture, a close-up face shot. It might as well have been a still photo for all the movement or expression it showed.

Around the main article on page three, there was side box after side box of testimonies. Small photos of the missing and dead. Wives recounting in heart-wrenching detail the way their husbands had been killed; mothers describing the way their children had been tortured. Victim after victim of Death Eater atrocities. All of them had suffered horrendously, had watched loved ones die, had seen their homes and dreams go up in smoke. All of them swore that it had been Severus Snape who had carried out the Dark Lord's orders. There were excerpts of transcripts, with her father asking questions sometimes, but mostly just letting the victims tell their stories.

With growing horror, she read description after description_. "…I begged and pleaded, but he shoved me aside…" "…stretched out his wand, and I just saw my daughter go limp, this surprised expression on her face" "…screamed and screamed after the curse hit, and he just laughed…"_ It went on, story after story. From this, it was clear that the man she had spent time with, cared about, saw every day, was in fact a monster.

She looked at the next issue - another day of testimony, more boxes of text surrounding the story, more victims, more horrors.

Quickly, she looked over the next few issues, but there was nothing on the front pages any more. Her eyes returned to the trial reports in front of her. Horrid. This was horrid.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, and saw his angry, contorted face looming over hers. She could almost believe this. Almost. Among the growing revulsion and anger, there was a niggling feeling that there was something she was missing. She just couldn't make the picture painted by the stories in the paper mesh with the picture of the man she thought she had come to know, at least a little bit. And he was here, wasn't he? If this was true, why wasn't he in Azkaban, at least?

So engrossed was she in the papers that it was a minute before she registered that someone was standing in front of the table. When she looked up, she met the stern, forbidding gaze of Minerva McGonagall. Hannah flushed, as if she had been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing.

"May I ask what you are doing?" The Deputy Headmistress' voice was icy.

Hannah met her gaze levelly, her cheeks still pink. "S... Professor Snape made some allusion to a run-in with my father. I'm trying to find out what happened."

"By reading the _Daily Prophet?"_ McGonagall's voice was freely laced with sarcasm.

"I figured if I am going to be judged by the sins of my father, I might at least find out what those are," Hannah said calmly. "And since he told me the incidence was head-line news, here I am."

"You know nothing about this?" McGonagall looked at her with tightened lips, unbelief written on her face.

"No, I don't," said Hannah, a tinge of impatience in her voice. "I haven't talked to my father in almost two years, and I spent the last year teaching English at an international boarding school on the continent, a fact that can…"

A 'shhh' and a disapproving look coming from the direction of Madam Pince interrupted her.

The Deputy Headmistress looked at her for a moment, as if weighing a decision. Finally, she made up her mind. "You want to know the truth?" she said. "Then follow me."

* * *

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, lalaluu – you are such a great help!


	14. Truth

She quickly stowed the papers away into their respective slots, and rose to follow the black-haired witch out of the library. Without another word, they walked through the castle, Hannah two steps behind McGonagall. When they got to her office, the Transfiguration mistress opened the door with a flick of her wand, and then stood back to let her through first.

"Have a seat."

Hannah sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs that stood in front of the wide mahogany desk; McGonagall walked around it and took a seat in the much more impressive armchair on the other side.

"So you want to know the truth? Do you know anything at all about what happened? About your father's involvement with Severus Snape?"

She shrugged apologetically. "No. Can't say that I do."

"You do know who Voldemort is?"

"Yes, of course," Hannah answered, a touch of irritation in her voice. Any child would know _that_. "And I know he died in March. But I don't see what that has to do with Professor Snape?"

The older witch put her hands flat on the desk in front of her. "I suppose I should start in the beginning. Do you remember anything at all about the Death Eater trials the first time Voldemort was defeated?"

"My father was an Auror then. I know he was involved in several of the trials. But that was all so long ago…"

"Severus was arrested as a follower of Voldemort during that time. And your father was one of the Aurors who arrested him. So, you see, they go back a ways."

Hannah sat silently for a moment, looking down at her hands clenched in her lap. _Twenty years_. "So it is true that he's a Death Eater? The papers are right on that count?"

"No." McGonagall leaned back in her chair and folded her hands on her lap. "It is true that he _was _a Death Eater at one point in the past when he was much younger. It was a decision he regretted. By the time your father arrested him, he had already begun passing information to a group of people who were fighting for Voldemort's destruction."

"A spy?"

"Yes, a spy." Her face tightened, and she paused for a moment before continuing on. "Of course, Severus wasn't imprisoned long. The word of Albus Dumbledore carries a lot of weight. When he went before the Wizengamot and testified on Severus's behalf, they let him go. The trial got hushed up – very few people know of what actually happened at the time. When Severus was acquitted on all charges… let's just say that Hannigan… your _father_ was less than pleased." The tall witch stood up and picked up a round glass paperweight from her desk. A tiny golden lion was curled up inside, asleep. "He actually had the nerve to walk up to Albus Dumbledore and tell him that he would get his pet Death Eater eventually. He's been out for Severus's blood ever since."

McGonagall walked over to the window. Staring out into the darkness, she passed the paperweight from one hand to the other absentmindedly. The lion inside had woken up, and looked none too pleased at being man-handled like that.

"And that's connected to what happened this year?" Hannah spoke up timidly after a minute or two had passed in silence.

"Yes. You see, when Voldemort returned, Severus resumed his role as an informant." She turned around at Hannah's sharp intake of breath.

"You mean he returned to Voldemort? How is that possible? Wouldn't Voldemort have known what happened during the trial?"

The older witch walked over to the desk, and sat back down. "Voldemort is a skilled Legilimens. You know what that is?"

Hannah nodded. "Yes. But…"

"Severus is an extremely capable Occlumens. He was able to persuade Voldemort that he had only pretended to be a spy to get himself on good terms with Dumbledore and the Resistance, and that his one and only goal had been to be of better service to the Dark side. In the end, Voldemort believed him."

"I see," Hannah said quietly.

"No, I don't think you do." McGonagall voice was harsh as she set the paperweight down sharply on a stack of parchments. The lion looked up at her resentfully before putting its head on its paws and settling back down. "It meant Severus had to dance on the edge of destruction for years. One slip, and it would have all been over. As it was, he could not meet his master's expectations to his satisfaction. Many times, Voldemort was… less than pleased with his services. Often he came back from a summons barely able to stand up... -- Oh heavens, what now?"

A loud, insistent knock had interrupted her. Casting an apologetic look in Hannah's direction, McGonagall went to open the door. Ginny Weasley, the Gryffindor Head Girl, stood outside, breathless and upset. There was a short conversation in low, urgent tones, and then McGonagall turned to Hannah. "I'm sorry, there seems to be some sort of problem in the Common Room. This shouldn't take long. You can wait here, or we can continue this conversation some other time?"

"I'll wait." Hannah was not about to let the conversation leave off here if she could help it.

As she watched the older witch leave, she stood up, and aimlessly wandered around Minerva McGonagall's Spartan office. Most everything in here was plain and functional. There were a few nods to beauty -- a couple of gorgeous old tapestries on the wall, an elaborate silver candlestick on top of a cupboard in the corner, some bits and pieces she must have collected over the years. A portrait of Godric Gryffindor beamed down at her magnanimously from the wall behind the desk. She finally walked over to the window and looked out into the darkness. All she could see where the lights of Hogsmeade, glittering across the water of the lake.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. She had asked for the truth – now she wasn't so sure any more that she really wanted to hear it.

.-.-.

Once the Gryffindor Head of House had sent two first year girls to the hospital wing to have the purple fur that covered most of their bodies removed, and had forcefully made it clear to a group of fourth years that this was _not_ her idea of an acceptable practical joke, she made her way back to the office.

_Frank Hannigan's daughter._ Maybe she had misjudged her – she either really didn't know about Severus Snape, or she was an extremely skilled actress. Still, whatever had possessed Albus to hire someone from that family, she would never understand…

Frank Hannigan. The constant meddling of the Ministry at Hogwarts had a lot to do with him, she was sure. The man couldn't stand Dumbledore, and he was in a position where he could make himself quite a nuisance. She snorted. Harvey Graham, the current Minister of Magic, probably didn't even dare to get out of bed in the morning without Frank Hannigan's approval. How many times had Dumbledore been removed as Headmaster in the last few years? Four times now? Yet that was nothing compared to what Hannigan had done to Severus.

With determined steps, she headed down the corridor.

_Screams, falling bodies. Beams of blue, green, silver, flashing through the fog. She had seen him when the battle started, tearing off his Death Eater's mask, throwing it to the ground. Tense faces, hooded figures, moving, dashing, back and forth, a grotesque ballet. It had seemed like hours. It had only been minutes. Exultant reptilian eyes locking with green ones. Harry lifting his wand. His friends pocketing theirs in unspoken agreement, placing their hands over Harry's, adding their strength to his, leaving themselves defenseless. Love. Trust. Self-sacrifice. Three things the Dark Lord would never know. The light from Harry's wand growing brighter, more intense. The snake-like, half-human thing __writhing, screaming, sinking to the ground. A hooded, masked shape coming from out of nowhere, attacking from the back. Another figure, tall, black-cloaked, blocking the way, absorbing the curse meant for the children. _

_When the battle finally had spent its rage, when the fog lifted, they had found him. He had lain there as if dead, sightless eyes half open, blue-tinged lips in a chalk-white face. It had come as a surprise when they found there still was breath. _

_-.-.-_

When the Deputy Headmistress arrived at her office, the younger woman turned from where she had been standing by the window.

"Is everything all right?"

Her face was still grim as she nodded. "Just a stupid joke gone too far. Where were we?"

"Severus resumed his role as a spy."

Walking over to a tall cupboard, McGonagall opened the door. "I could use a cup of tea. Would you like one?" When Hannah nodded, she took down a pot and two cups and set them on the desk.

"You care for him a great deal, don't you?" Hannah said softly, taking the teacup offered to her.

McGonagall paused for a moment, busying herself with the teapot.

_She had not liked Severus Snape, not really. Not the stringy Slytherin boy, not the taciturn, sarcastic, needlessly cruel man who had returned to Hogwarts as a teacher a few years later. No, she had not liked him. Yet she had seen too much in the last few years. She had seen that however much he demanded of others, he demanded more of himself. She had seen him return half dead the night before and then drag himself to class to teach the next morning. She still didn't consider him pleasant company, and he still was capable of annoying her half to death. But somewhere during those years, he had ceased to be 'that Slytherin Potions master' and had become 'one of hers'. _

She looked up, staring hard into Hannah's eyes now. "Yes, I do. I don't think anyone really knows what he put himself through. Severus was never one to share confidences. I just know bits and pieces, but even those… " An involuntary shiver ran through her. "Yet I'm sorry to say that even within the Resistance there were those who didn't trust him, who thought someone who turned traitor once would not hesitate to do so again if offered the right price. But those who didn't trust him were proven wrong once and for all during the Last Battle."

Hannah stood up and walked over to the window again. She gazed outside with unseeing eyes, listening to McGonagall's narrative. She saw Severus' face before her mind's eye, the way it had been in the picture on the front page of the paper. _What had happened to him? What had they done to him?_

McGonagall's voice went on relentlessly. "Harry was facing Voldemort when Dolohov Apparated in behind him. If Severus had not thrown himself in the way of the curse, the boy would be dead now. As it was, the curse broke half the bones in Severus' body. It was strange curse, something we were not familiar with. When we found him, there was barely a scratch on him, just his body limp on the ground, all odd angles like a discarded rag doll." She swallowed hard. "He was bleeding out internally. The curse had centered near his right hip, completely shattering the bone underneath. I don't think anyone expected him to live."

"I was with him when they took him to St. Mungo's. He was unconscious then – a mercy, really. At first, it was chaos, of course – so many wounded and dead. It wasn't until his condition had been stabilized that they discovered the Dark Mark. Your father arranged to have him taken away after that, to a guarded ward staffed with his own people, and we were not allowed in." She swallowed again. "Poppy Pomfrey used her connections at the hospital to get in to see him a couple days later. I haven't seen Poppy cry very often…" Her voice trailed off. "It seems the Department's healers didn't think pain potions or even a simple sleeping draught should be wasted on a Death Eater.

"Your_ father_ came and took him ten days later, when he was barely able to support his own weight for a minute or two. They moved him into a holding cell in the ministry, injured, alone, and in pain, and proceeded to put him on trial."

The hard expression on her face softened a bit as she saw the tears running down the younger teacher's face. With a flick of her wand, she vanished the tea that had grown cold in their cups, and refilled them from the steaming pot. She held the cup out to Hannah. "Here, take this." As Hannah took the cup from her, wrapping both hands tightly around it as if needing the warmth, McGonagall continued with her story.

"Albus stepped down as Head of the Wizengamot to represent Severus – in hindsight, a bad mistake. It gave your father carte blanche as far as the trial was concerned. You know that Muggle idea of the right to a fair trial? Of the few things that I wish the wizarding world would learn from them, that would be near the top of the list." The corners of her mouth turned down in bitter contempt.

"The trial was a travesty. To this day I don't know how Severus managed to walk into the courtroom. It must have cost him every last ounce of strength. They chained him to the chair like a common criminal. Frank Hannigan called witness after witness, telling Dumbledore he could not cross-examine until he had finished presenting _his_ witnesses. Every single testimony was recorded and published in the Daily Prophet. For three days, that was virtually all there was in the paper. Complete with pictures of the monster himself. You saw."

"Yes. I saw," Hannah whispered.

"Did you see the articles on the cross-examinations? The witnesses for the defense? The sentencing hearing?"

She shook her head in confusion. There had been nothing.

"Oh, there is a reason for that." McGonagall smiled bitterly. "Once Dumbledore finally got to cross examine, it was only a matter of seconds to ascertain that what each person had seen was a Death Eater – a tall figure in a hood and mask. Not one of them could actually identify Severus Snape as even having been there. And then the Headmaster did something that I don't think Severus will ever forgive him for. He called Harry Potter as a witness for the defense."

"I don't understand…"

"It's a long story." McGongall's voice took on a business-like tone. "Anyways, Harry, the 'Hero of the Hour' as the paper had just proclaimed, testified that Severus had saved his life. Between that and Dumbledore's testimony, it was enough for the jury. They ruled that there was insufficient evidence to convict, and dismissed the case. The next day there was that one-inch-square article on page 23 of the Daily Prophet, announcing that end of the trial of the Death Eater Severus Snape, who had been freed on a 'technicality.'

"So that is how Severus was rewarded for the sacrifices he made, and for saving uncountable lives. Your father made sure his reputation was completely destroyed. As far as the vast majority of the Wizarding world is concerned, he is a Death Eater and mass murderer.

"As for Severus, he spent almost two weeks more in the hospital wing of the school. Poppy Pomfrey told me that because of the insufficient treatment he received at the time, his injuries never healed the way they were supposed to, and he'll most likely live with constant pain for the rest of his life." She sat back in her chair with a grim expression. "So there you have it – the truth."

For a minute, there was silence. Then, Hannah looked up at her with a tear-stained face. "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry," she whispered.

The hard lines in McGonagall's face softened a bit. "I do know this must have been hard for you to hear."

Hannah pulled herself together as best as she could. "I am under no illusions as far as my father is concerned," she said quietly, rising from her chair and putting the teacup back down on the desk. "I know what he is. Thank you for letting me know what really happened. If you will excuse me now?"

After being dismissed, she walked up to her quarters with quick, hurrying strides. She really didn't want to see or run into anyone else. All she wanted was to go to bed and have a good cry. Unbidden images danced in her head. _Oh, Severus… _Small wonder he had reacted the way he had when he had found out who she was. How she was going to face him tomorrow, she did not know.


	15. Escalation

When he got up on Thursday morning, Severus knew without a doubt that today would be a rotten day. Not just did he have three combined Gryffindor/Slytherin double Potions classes, not just did he have to think up a week's worth of particularly nasty detentions for one of his fifth-years, not just was there a Heads of House meeting called for that afternoon, in part to discuss the aforementioned fifth-year's egregious misconduct, not just would Lupin expect his last dose of Wolfsbane today - no, he had several hours of marking to look forward to that evening. Marking side by side with Hannigan's daughter.

By the time he had left the staffroom and was heading back towards the dungeon (where he had left the fifth-year gainfully employed skinning and disemboweling a barrel of natterjack toads) he was in a flaming bad mood. Minerva and Albus had cornered him after the meeting to enquire if there had been any more incidents, and he had been forced to admit that yes, there had been a bit of a proliferation of dead moles around his sphere of work during the last few weeks. Three more, to be exact.

He really was starting to regard the whole thing as just an infernal nuisance – the whole 'dead mole' thing was getting old. Pettigrew, if it was him, was not the imaginative kind. He had probably been quite impressed with his own cleverness in thinking this up, but if that was all he had up his sleeve, Snape was not inclined to take him too seriously. Minerva and the Headmaster did not seem to share that opinion, and had been bothersome in the extreme.

He swept down the stairs and corridors, students scattering out of the way like frightened rabbits as they saw him approach. There would be just enough time to check up on the progress made with the natterjacks and to bring Lupin his potion before dinner. The dungeon door burst open with a flick of his wand, and Snape headed for his office when he abruptly stopped in mid-stride, staring at the sight that met his eye.

Floor and desks were covered with natterjack parts. The door to the cupboard that held the rarer classroom supplies had been broken open; one of the doors had been ripped off its hinges. Shards of glass and porcelain littered the floor where jars had been swept off the shelves that lined the walls. Animal parts, roots, and leaves floated in puddles of murky liquid, and the smell of wet herbs and pickle brine filled the air. Wand at the ready, Severus quickly made his way to the front of the classroom, scanning the room for any intruders.

He found the student crumpled at the foot of his desk, still and motionless. Kneeling down, his hands quickly checked for pulse and breath, and then patted down the body for any obvious injury. He let out a sharp breath of relief – the student, while unconscious, seemed to be otherwise unharmed. "_Ennervate,"_ he hissed, and the eyes of the boy fluttered open.

Within a few seconds, he attempted to sit up.

"What happened?" he asked in a weak, shaky voice, brushing the back of his hand over his eyes. "Am I in trouble?"

Snape smirked at that. "Not any more trouble than you were in previously, Ludlow. Can you tell me what happened?"

The boy just looked up at him with an air of befuddlement. "The door opened, and there was a flash – and I don't remember more than that."

Snape nodded grimly. "Let's get you up to the infirmary." He helped the student up, and found that the boy was able to walk, albeit a bit shakily. In the corridor, he flagged down one of the prefects. "Take Ludlow here up to Madam Pomfrey. Tell her he seems to have fainted, and I would like for her to check him out."

As the two students slowly made their way up the stairs, he returned to the dungeon classroom. With a few quick steps, Severus moved to the door of his office. No problem there – the wards that guarded it were still firmly in place. He quickly lowered them and stepped inside. The room was undisturbed, his private stores safe. With a sigh of relief, he returned to the classroom.

Carefully avoiding the sharp shards of glass, he knelt on the floor next to the cupboard. Whoever had done this had been thorough. Only a few heavy earthenware jars had survived the assault; most everything else was past the point of being salvageable. Some of the jars could be repaired, but the potion ingredients were too contaminated to ever be of use again. They would have to be destroyed.

A few choice cusswords escaped the Potions master as he surveyed the damage. These had been virtually all the supplies needed for the entire school year. Tomorrow would have to be a theoretical lesson until he could make it to _Slug and Jiggers _on the weekend and reorder supplies.

With a groan, he pulled his wand out of his sleeve, and started on the task of repairing what could be repaired and disposing of the rest.

.-.-.

He had almost finished clearing the mess when Minerva and Dumbledore entered. To Snape's great annoyance, they were followed by Lupin and Flitwick.

"It seems we have a student in the hospital wing who is telling quite a strange story," the Headmaster said mildly. "Could you enlighten me as to what happened to Mr. Ludlow? You _were_ going to tell me, were you not?"

Severus drew himself up to his full height, and regarded the headmaster coldly. "A student has been attacked. Do you really think I would be irresponsible enough to keep that fact to myself?"

"No, no, of course not. So our friend is not content to just leave presents behind any more, is he?"

"So it appears." Severus was still standing up, while the rest of the group had sat down at the student work tables.

"So are you still suspecting Pettigrew?" Lupin asked, his forehead screwed up in concern.

"That would be my best guess at this point, yes."

"Pettigrew? Isn't that interesting." Dumbledore tugged the side of his beard thoughtfully. He turned to Remus. "I would be interested in hearing your opinion. What do you make of this?"

Remus shrugged. "From all I can tell, he never tried to harm anyone unless it was in his direct personal interest. Self-preservation, if you will. If he wanted to seriously hurt the student, he certainly could have."

"It is still just a message then, you think? To put Severus on his guard?" Minerva chimed in while Severus stood by in growing irritation while the rest of them discussed the situation as if he were not even in the room.

At that moment, someone else burst through the door of the dungeon. "I heard something about an attack." The Composition mistress seemed quite out of breath. A look of relief spread over her face as she took in the scene in the room. "Is everyone all right?" Her eyes sought the face of the Potions master.

"Everyone is fine. The student was just mildly stunned, no major damage done," McGonagall replied. "Severus, was there a letter or something again this time?"

"This time?" Hannah asked in alarm before Severus had a chance to answer. "What do you mean, this time? There have been other attacks?"

"This does not really concern her," he snapped. "I am sure she has other places she should be?"

"Severus, the staff will need to be told now. _All_ the staff." McGonagall turned back to Hannah, and she and Dumbledore were still trying to explain the situation to her when Severus murmured an excuse and retreated to his office.

_How in all the world did word spread around this castle so fast?_ He opened a small wall cupboard, and took out the crystal decanter. With practiced hands, he filled a goblet. _Was the entire school going to show up down here in the next ten minutes?_ With an abrupt, angry motion he re-stoppered the decanter and put it back in the cupboard. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a second. _Well, it seemed like Pettigrew had tired of the 'mole game' as well…_

When he entered the potions dungeon again, the other five were engaged in animated conversation. Severus banged the goblet down in front of the Defense master. "Since you are down here anyway, I might as well save myself a trip," he said with a sneer.

Conversation died down quickly, and Remus, after casting a quick look in the direction of the newest staff member, picked up the goblet a bit self-consciously. "Thank you, Severus," he said levelly, and took a deep swallow. "Wolfsbane Potion," he said, turning to Hannah. "I don't know if they told you or not, but I am a werewolf. Severus has been gracious enough to brew the potion for me."

For a moment, her eyes dashed quickly between Severus and Remus. "I am glad to hear that. Well, not that you are a werewolf, of course, but that… I mean, I have heard the transformation is much easier… I am sorry, I can just be daft sometimes….I hope you know what I mean…" Her voice trailed off as she looked at Remus with an embarrassed smile.

He smiled back at her. "You're doing fine." With a grimace, he lifted the goblet to his lips again. "Now, if someone could just talk Severus into making it taste better?"

Everyone laughed at that, except Severus, who closed his eyes. _Gads, he was tired of that same joke every month. _

Again, he felt her eyes on him. _And whatever you think you figured out right now, you don't have a clue_, he thought savagely.

He turned to the rest of the group with mock solicitousness. "Since everyone seems to be nicely settled in, may I offer you some tea? Cakes? Biscuits? Warm milk with honey?"

"What a marvelous idea, Severus." The Headmaster's eyes twinkled, but Minerva McGonagall got up as Remus downed the last of his potion.

"I think what he means is that it's time for us to go," she said, firmly pressing her lips together. "Remus, Filius, Miss Hannigan…"

"Call me Hannah," she interrupted her. "Everybody. Please."

"Hannah, then." McGonagall nodded. "Let's go and leave Severus to his work." She shooed everyone through the open door. Albus paused in the doorway, and looked at his Potions master. "Severus, take care of y…"

"Yes, yes," Severus interrupted him. "I know." He unceremoniously closed the door behind the Headmaster.

.-.-.

It only took a few more minutes to repair the hinges on the cupboard door, and clean up the last of the mess on the shelves. He had managed to save about half of the jars and flasks.

With a sigh, he sat down at the desk and got out his inventory ledger, a quill, and a piece of parchment. He was almost done composing his list of ingredients and equipment that needed to be replaced when there was a soft knock on the door.

"What now?" he muttered resentfully as he went to open the door. Wrenching it open a bit too forcefully, he almost bumped into Hannah, who was standing close on the other side. She blushed, and took a step back.

"Yes?" Severus inquired icily.

"I just wanted to ask… well, we were supposed to do the marking together tonight, and with what happened, I would completely understand if you would like to postpone…"

He thought for a moment. The idea of the evening to himself was tempting – but no, he would be even busier tomorrow. Might as well get it over with. "I will still expect you after dinner."

She nodded. "All right." She turned as if to go, then stopped and turned back around.

"Is everything gone? Your supplies, I mean?"

He closed his eyes for a second, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"All the student stores, yes."

He looked up to see her eyes locked on his face. There was an expression in them that he couldn't place. He was not used to being looked at like that – it was disconcerting.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "Are _you _all right?" She lifted her hand as if to touch his arm, then dropped it to her side again. All this time, her eyes did not leave his face.

"I am fine," he said roughly, dismissively.

She was still standing there, just looking at him, the hand she had just lifted now clenching a fold of her robe. He could see her throat moving as she swallowed hard.

A couple seconds went by, and still she was just standing there, as if rooted to the spot.

All of a sudden, a thought occurred to him. "You will not tell your father about what has happened," he demanded. "This is not at all the Ministry's concern."

Suddenly, her shoulders slumped, and there was a conspicuous brightness in her eyes.  
"No," she said tiredly. "It isn't my place to inform the authorities." She finally turned away again. "I will see you at six then."

He looked after her with drawn eyebrows before returning to his desk. Six o'clock would arrive way too soon.


	16. Side by Side

Hannah stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her sitting room, angrily brushing her hair. Gads, she had made such a fool of herself. All week long, every time she had seen Severus, she had played ostrich – avoiding eye contact, and, well, any kind of contact, really. It had worked just fine – after all, it was basically the same technique that he had employed towards her since the beginning of the term. She didn't really know what else to do. You couldn't exactly walk up to someone and go 'Oh, by the way, I'm so sorry that my father treated you like an animal', could you?

And then she had heard a flock of students whispering something about an attack down in the Potions dungeon and had run down there like an idiot. It had been such a relief to see that he was fine, even though the classroom looked a lot the worse for the wear.

And then she had gone back to talk to him, and he had looked so angry and so tired, and all she had wanted to do was just – oh, everything. Ask for forgiveness, tell him she was sorry, see if he was all right – but most of all, she had just wanted to put her arms around him and hold him, for a long, long time. The urge had been quite overwhelming, and yet she had known that any attempt to actually act on it would be most ill-advised. So she had just stood there – like an idiot. Fool. Imbecile. Nitwit. Each word was followed by an exasperated stroke of the brush.

And now she would have to go down to dinner, and then be cooped up in the same room with him for hours. Mercy.

She took a hairpin out of her pocket, and put it in her mouth while twisting her hair around her fingers into a bun. Sticking the pin through the knot to secure it, she gave her reflection one more look.

"You know, powder blue is really not your color," the mirror said in a languid voice. "As a matter of fact, begging your pardon, any kind of blue is really not your color. And you might want to try a more fitted kind of robe? No offense, but this cut does nothing for your figure."

"Just this once, could you shut up?" Hannah asked irritably. Normally, the opinionated thing didn't manage to get under her skin, but today… This was one thing in the wizarding world she could do without – at least at her last place of employment, the mirror had not fancied itself a fashion critic. Still, she went back into the bedroom, and came out in a dark-green robe not quite as wide-cut as the one she had been wearing.

"Better?" she asked.

"Somewhat, I suppose." The mirror did not sound entirely convinced. "Now if you would just…"

"Oh, stuff it," Hannah replied with exasperation. Turning her back to the offending object, she stood in front of the door, straightened up, and squared her shoulders. Time to face the music.

.-.-.-

Dinner passed in a blur, and it wasn't too long before Hannah found herself outside his office door, tightly clutching her voluminous bag.

The door swung open in answer to her knock. He was standing by the desk, wand in hand.

"Well, here I am," she said nervously.

He closed the door with another wave of his wand, and she could hear the heavy cast-iron bolt move into place.

"You may sit there." He pointed to a surprisingly comfortable-looking chair on the far side of the desk. "I have already started; those rolls are ready to go." He indicated a small pile of parchments on the desk in front of her seat.

Sitting down, she pulled her student records ledger and a quill out of the bag. After looking at the first parchment, liberally covered in red comments, she added a bottle of green ink. Severus was already bent over his marking again. About fifteen minutes went by where the only noise was the scratching of quill tips on parchment. Then Hannah shivered and looked at the empty fireplace.

"Is it kind of cold in here? Would you mind terribly if I asked you to light the fire?"

"Suit yourself," he answered tersely, not taking his eyes off the parchment in front of him.

"I am sorry," Hannah said. "I don't mean to impose."

With an exasperated look, he pointed his wand at the fireplace. Immediately, it sprang to life. "Are you satisfied?" he asked sardonically. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Thank you," she said apologetically. " I really don't mean to be any trouble."

About fifteen more minutes, and Hannah let out a giggle.

"What is it now?" Snape snapped ill-temperedly.

"'One should only cut caper spurge plants with gloves'," she quoted from the parchment in front of her. "I am trying to decide if the mental image of a caper spurge wearing tiny white gloves or of someone trying to cut through the plant with a glove instead of a knife is more amusing."

He only glowered at her.

"Right, then. I'll be quiet now," she said briskly.

Another hour and a half of occasional giggles, immediately stifled by a black look cast in her direction. Finally, she put down her quill. "I'm sorry, Severus, I need to take a break for a few minutes." She stood up, and stretched. "I can't sit that long."

He patently ignored her, and kept scratching away at the parchment in front of him.

.-.-.-

When he heard no noise coming from her direction after a few minutes, he raised his head. She was still standing, leaning against the supply cupboard, her eyes looking intently at him. There was the same look in her eyes that had been there earlier that day.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked, a bite to his voice. _Next time, he would just give her the infernal essays and hand them back a day or two late. The delay would be infinitely preferable to this._

She seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I…"

"Yes?"

She turned, and walked around the office. Touching a tall wooden carving, she said, "This is beautiful. Where is it from?"

He didn't answer. If she wanted to make small talk, she could make it by herself.

Finally, she turned. "Look, Severus…"

"Yes?" more sharply.

Her face turned first white, then red, then white again. She swallowed. Finally, the words came out in a rush. "Look, McGonagall told me. About what happened. Between my father and you, over the last twenty years. And I just wanted to say how very s…"

"Spare me." He was out of his chair, pushing it back so hard that it almost tipped over. "I am not interested in anything you might have to say."

_If she hadn't known before, she knew now. She knew that he was - had been - a Death Eater. He didn't know why that bothered him so much. Maybe because it had been nice to think that there was actually a single person who knew him who was unaware of that fact. Where he had just been 'Severus' – neither a villain nor some sort of sacrificial lamb. Couldn't Minerva just have minded her own business?_

"Severus, please..." She held out her hands towards him in a helpless gesture. "Just let me…"

"Let's get this straight." He moved over close to her and looked down on her with narrowed eyes. His voice dropped to a low hiss. "I don't want to discuss this. I especially do not want to discuss this with _you_. I am not interested in any explanations; I am not interested in any apologies; I am not interested in _anything_ you might have to say on the matter. Is that clear?"

She nodded. The look in her eyes grew soft. "I understand. But please, let me at least say thank you." He turned away and walked back towards his desk. She continued talking at his retreating back. "Without you, without everything you have done, the world might look very different right now. I was thinking about that last night. You really are a remarkable man, Severus Snape. I'm glad I got to spend time with you before…well, our histories caught up with us…" her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

With a snort, he sharply turned back to look at her. "Let's for a moment assume that our meeting was indeed accidental," he said with a sneer. "In that case, I am sure that your reason for agreeing to spend time with me was exactly the same as my reason for agreeing to spend time with _you_, which is that there simply weren't a lot of other… choices. You would most certainly have never wasted another thought on your 'time' with me if we hadn't unfortunately been thrown back together like this. So please, spare me your sentimental drivel." He sat back down. "Now, if we could get back to work? I would like to get done sometime tonight."

"I'm sorry, but you are wrong, Severus," she said quietly as she walked back over to her chair. "I'm really comfortable enough with my own company that I don't spend time with someone unless I like being with that person." She sat down, and looked at him with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "And, I would have guessed, so are you. But apparently, I was wrong."

He didn't respond. No further words were spoken.

It was almost ten before they were done. Since he had started early, he finished nearly twenty minutes before her. She had offered to take the rest of the parchment rolls to her quarters and return them before his first class, but he had told her impatiently to just get on with it.

While she was correcting the last of the second-years' homework, he got up, walked over to a cupboard in the back of the room, and poured himself a drink. Standing off to the side behind her, he could look her over without being observed. Her head was bent over her work; a strand of hair had escaped from the knot and was hanging over her face. As he watched, she impatiently pushed it back behind her right ear. Running her finger down the record ledger to locate the name of a student, she recorded the mark, rolled up the parchment, put it in the 'finished' pile, and unrolled the next one.

He really couldn't see much of her father in her. Neither her build nor the lines of her face recalled much of Frank Hannigan's. Her face was in half profile, backlit by the lamp that glowed on his desk. She took after her mother, he supposed. Somehow, she must have felt his scrutiny, because she turned around and smiled up at him before continuing with her work. Suddenly, a memory pushed its way to the surface.

"_You could pick me up – number 18, High Street," she had said. "It's a big, boxy house. My flat is on the second floor. Around seven?"_

_So here he was. She opened, eyes shining, cheeks pink, and flung her arms around his neck. "I just got the best piece of news." When she noticed his expression at being thus assaulted, she quickly let go. He retreated a couple of steps to a safe distance._

_She was still grinning. "So sorry about that, Severus. But gosh, I'm so happy!" She pulled on a cardigan over a simple cotton dress. "Let's go celebrate. Fish and chips on the quay? My treat."_

"_What happened, if I may ask?" Severus said as they headed down the stairs._

"_Just some news about a job I really wanted. I got it." She was grinning ear to ear again. "I just can't believe it."_

"_Congratulations," he offered stiffly. _

"_Thank you."_

_There had been a short but firm discussion about who would actually pay once they got to the fish-and-chips stand. He had won. _

_After the walrus-mustachioed vendor had handed Hannah the paper wrapped packages, they walked past the white-washed houses out to the quay. Red and blue fishing boats rocked gently, tied to their mooring. Nets and lobster creels set out to dry, and gulls wheeled overhead, white wings bright against a blue sky. _

_She took off her shoes and sat down on the edge of the quay, her feet dangling over the water. He had opted for a rough wooden bench right behind her, overlooking the sea. After handing him one of the parcels, she gingerly opened hers, trying not to burn her fingers on the steaming contents. The aroma of hot fish filled the air._

"_I think having fish and chips by the ocean is one of those things everyone should do at least once in his life," she said solemnly, as she broke off a piece of the golden-crusted cod. "I don't think it tastes the same anywhere else." _

_Privately, he thought that he could live quite well without every having food this greasy again. And that the stench coming off the fishing boats really didn't add a lot to the dining experience. The gulls were landing all around them, looking for their share of the food - he could not say that he appreciated the noisy, dirty things staring vulture-like at every bite he brought to his mouth. _

"_This isn't really your cup of tea, is it?" she said._

"_It's all right." He sounded less than enthusiastic, even to his own ears._

"_Liar. But thank you for doing this with me." _

She had turned back, looked up at him, and smiled. It must have been the repetition of the motion that had brought back the memory…

Forcing himself back to attention, he found that she had gotten up and was packing supplies into her bag. It seemed she had finished the last of the essays. She stopped at the door. "Thank you. I think that was quite productive - and I now know more about the properties of caper spurge than I ever wanted to," she added with a grin. "Good night."

After she left, he stood leaning against the wall for a while longer, nursing his drink. So this had been what she had been so happy about. He wondered what she thought about her position now. Even though he hated to admit it, she was doing a good job. Even after only a month, he could see the quality of the students' homework improving. Most of them at least managed to have a distinctive beginning, middle, and end to their assignments by now. With a shrug, he cleaned the glass and put it back, then dimmed the lamp on his way out. One more thing to do before going to bed. He shuddered.

As he walked through the deserted corridors, he had ample time to reflect on the daftness that pervaded Hogwarts. Generations of headmasters seemed to have shared Albus Dumbledore's rather juvenile sense of humor. The humiliations an adult wizard had to contend with... He sighed. Walking up to the painting that covered the entry, he steeled himself, squared his shoulders - and tickled the pear.

* * *

Thanks for reviewing! 

Many thanks to lalaluu – you are an awesome beta!


	17. Visits

The fruit wriggled and giggled under his fingertips until it finally turned into a large handle. With a look of longsuffering, he opened the door to Hogwarts' kitchen.

Inside, several of the house elves looked up with expectant smiles when they saw someone come in – smiles that quickly faded as they realized who exactly it _was_ that had just entered their domain.

The hustle and bustle in the room came to an abrupt halt as the elves stared at the forbidding, black-clad figure before them. They slowly drew around him in a wide half-circle.

A small, familiar creature stepped hesitantly forward.

"Is there something Professor Snape is wanting, sir?" she asked, her ears folded back and her eyes opened wide. "Is Gwinny offending Sir somehow? I swears I isn't touching _anything_ in Master Snape's office, not anything at all."

The Potions master looked down at the obviously terrified elf, and cleared his throat. "Erm, I actually came down here to… apologize," he said in a voice that sounded strangely strangled.

If he had expected an appreciative reaction to that announcement, he was disappointed.

"Sir come down here to do what?" Gwinny asked, her eyebrows screwing together in obvious disbelief. "Is Master Snape feeling all right?"

"I'm feeling fine, thank you," he replied stonily.

"Gwinny must not be hearing right, then." She stuck a finger in her ear, and twisted it vigorously. "Professor Snape is coming to say that…?"

"… that I would ask you to consider looking after my quarters again. – Not my office, though," he added sharply.

Gwinny's lip had begun to quiver. "But Master Snape says that Gwinny have to stay out of his rooms. Says that I – messes things up." Tears were streaming down her face now.

"I spoke too hastily, and I regret what I said," he said stiffly.

Gwinny's face broke out into a tremulous smile. "Professor Snape is wanting Gwinny?"

"Yes," the words came out through clenched teeth. "I do."

"Yes, Sir, of course, Sir. I will be taking the best care of Professor Snape's quarters. Make Professor so very comfortable. Is Sir hungry at all? A cup of nice chamomile tea before bed, maybe? And a few biscuits?"

Severus decided that in the interest of public relations it might be wise to accept. Within seconds, he was ensconced at a small, round table, a cup of steaming tea and a plate of dainties in front of him.

It wasn't the most relaxing meal he had ever had. All the elves crowded at a respectful distance around the table, still wide-eyed and in silence, as if they could not quite believe their eyes. Every once in a while, one would murmur something to another, too low to be overheard. Other times, they would silently pass a plate of yet another delectable offering through the crowd, to add to the growing array on the table. Other than that, he could have heard a pin drop.

As soon as he could politely do so, he rose from the table, and brushed a few crumbs off his robe. He couldn't wait to get out of there.

A path opened through the crowd, back to the entry door. He walked through it rather self-consciously. At the entry, he turned around. Gwinny was still at the head of the crowd that was now waiting to see him out.

"Thank you. There is one more thing…"

"Yes, sir?" "What, Professor Snape?" "Elves be happy to help, sir." Many voices murmured at once, and he could see small smiles on their faces. At least his foray into getting back into the elves' good graces seemed to have worked.

"You have heard about what happened in the dungeon this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir. Gwinny be so sorry about that. That was not very nice at all. Whoever did that is ought to be ashamed of himself." Her eyes were now filling with tears of sympathy.

"Would you tell me immediately if you see anything out of the usual at all? Anybody who is where he shouldn't be, any unusual visitors - and I especially want you to look out for a rat."

The house elves looked at one another in consternation. "A_ rat_, sir?"

"Yes. The person that I suspect may be responsible is a wizard who can transform into a rat. This rat might have a silver or very light colored front paw. The right one. If you see it, tell me right away. This is _very_ important. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, I want to know about it. If for some reason I am not available, tell the Headmaster or Professor McGonagall."

"Yes, sir." "We tells Professor Snape if we sees anything." "Thank you, sir."

With many bows, they finally ushered him out of the door. While the door was still closing, he could hear a babble of excited voices break out on the other side. He grimly smiled – it seemed he had given the elves something to talk about for a long time.

With a sigh of relief, he returned to his quarters – one more thing to tick off his list. He had already talked to Argus Filch and his cat, and they would be on the look-out as well. The Headmaster had spread the word to the portraits. At this point, he didn't know what else he could do. He replaced the wards after entering and got ready for bed.

.-.-.-

The next day, as he had expected, Dumbledore called yet another meeting after dinner.

"As I am sure everyone has heard, someone did a lot of damage to the Potions dungeon and stunned a student." He looked at Severus Snape from beneath bushy white eyebrows. "As _not_ everyone might know, Severus has been receiving threats for a while now. We do have reason to believe that the same person is responsible for both." A murmur of voices rose in the room. "I therefore must ask you to be even more vigilant than usual. I know we were all hoping that there would be no more unpleasantness now that the war is over, but it seems that that was too much to wish for." He sighed. "Severus, how hard will it be to replace the lost inventory?"

"I'm planning a trip for tomorrow to purchase the most necessary items for the next month or two. The rest I will replace over time. The most valuable ingredients were locked in my office, so the losses to the school should not run too high."

"Shouldn't someone go with Professor Snape? Or go instead of him?" Hannah spoke up. "Isn't it dangerous for him to be out alone?"

Severus glared in her direction. "_Miss Hannigan,"_ he snarled, "I assure you I am _quite_ capable of taking care of myself."

"She has a point, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly. "Why don't you take someone with you? It couldn't possibly hurt to have someone watch your back, could it now?"

Snape was looking daggers at the two of them. At least Lupin was still incapacitated, as he would have not put it past the werewolf to volunteer for such an assignment simply to spite him. "I will be perfectly all right on my own. You may as well have someone escort me from the minute I get up until the minute I go to bed, because walking down a dark corridor here is probably at least as dangerous as a trip to Diagon Alley at the moment. "

"Well, I suppose you have a point, too." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at him over the top of his half-moon glasses. "That wouldn't be too practical, would it?"

"No, it most certainly would not." Severus said emphatically. "So, is that all then?"

"Not quite."

He turned to the rest of the group. "Severus believes the person in question might be Peter Pettigrew. I don't have to tell you what that means."

Sibyll Trelawney's hand flew up to her mouth as she let out a little scream. "I knew it! I _saw_ something terrible was going to happen…"

"Oh, compose yourself, Sibyll," Flitwick said in an aggravated, squeaky voice. "We will just have to be extra careful to make sure that nothing terrible _does_ happen, won't we?"

He leaned back, muttering to himself.

Hannah raised her hand again.

"Yes, Miss Hannigan."

"If there is a Death Eater threatening faculty, and a student has been attacked, shouldn't the parents be told?"

"Oh really, Hannah," Minerva McGonagall spoke up, looking at her with pinched lips and piercing eyes. "You act like this is the first time anything has happened. Students get hurt all the time – Quidditch accidents, pranks gone awry…if we didn't tell the parents when a Basilisk petrified several students, why on earth would we tell them now? Why worry them needlessly when there is nothing they can do about it anyways? After all, no one was really injured. This is Hogwarts' business. And as Remus said before, I don't think whoever is doing this is out to hurt the students."

Severus felt Hannah's eyes on him again as he leaned back in his chair. _No_, he thought, his mouth turning down at the corner, _he is out to hurt _me.

_-.-.-._

When nothing happened during the next couple of weeks, Hannah slowly allowed herself to stop worrying a bit. Maybe whoever had been after Severus had decided to change his mind.

Then, one day in the middle of October, she was just getting ready for bed when there was a knock on the door. Quickly throwing on a robe, she hesitated on her side of the door – she wasn't expecting anyone.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Your father," a familiar, overly-hearty voice said from the other side.

She abruptly jerked the door open.

"What are you doing here?" she said, her face hardening.

"Well, that is a nice welcome," Frank Hannigan jeered. "I thought you would be glad to see me."

Hannah looked at him impassively. "What do you want?"

"Do I need a reason to come check on my only daughter?"

"Actually, yes, you do," she said harshly. "I repeat, what do you want?"

"May I come in?"

After a moment, she stepped out of the way to let him through.

"Now, _what do you want_?"

Hannigan sat down in one of her armchairs, and placidly started picking at his finger nails.

"Oh, nothing. Tell me, how are things going?"

"Fine." Hannah leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"Enjoying your new job?"

"Yes."

"Do you get along well with your colleagues?"

"For the most part."

"Is that old hag McGonagall still Dumbledore's second-in-command?"

"I'm sure you know that already."

"How about Flitwick? How is the old rascal?"

"Just fine."

"How about Severus Snape? Do you know him well?"

For a moment her eyelids flickered. She sank down into a chair. "Why would you care?"

"Oh, Severus and I go back a ways. Tell me, what is he up to these days?"

Hannah obstinately shook her head. "Why would I tell you?"

"Oh, sweetheart, come on, no reason to get bent out of shape. Listen, I just need a small favor. But first of all – do you know that he is a Death Eater?" He leaned forward, and looked up at her with an air of expectancy. He obviously had expected a strong reaction – his face took on a tight-lipped expression when the wary look on her face didn't change.  
"I am aware that he _was_ a Death Eater, yes," Hannah said cautiously.

"And that doesn't bother you?" he asked incredulously.

"Just tell me what you want."

"Oh, nothing much. Just that if you find out anything about what he is doing and what he is up to, you let me know. I promise I will make it worth your while. And you might be helping all of Wizardom in the process."

"You want me to spy on him?" Hannah asked in disbelief.

"Well, you don't need to put it so crudely," the Auror said unctuously. "Just a little exchange of information. Just keep an eye out."

"Father, I consider Severus Snape a friend. And even if I didn't like him, I wouldn't do such a thing. I would never betray the trust of those that hired me like that."

Her father's florid face turned redder than ever, and he rose out of his chair. "_Friend_? Don't tell me that little slimeball has managed to fool you into thinking he is anything but wizarding scum of the worst kind! Do you know what he did? Do you know how many people he has hurt, tortured, and killed? Wouldn't all the people who died because of him love to hear you say that - '_I like Severus Snape… I consider him a friend...'" _He repeated her words in a nasty, sing-song voice.

Hannah stood up as well, her hands white-knuckled. "I don't think anything that he had to do could possibly be more barbaric than what you did to him. He was hurt and defenseless."

"So Dumbledore told you, did he? I was just giving that Slytherin scum a taste of his own medicine. He deserved to suffer."

"No one deserves to be treated like that."

"Yes. He did. He deserved to suffer like he made others suffer. How can you just dismiss the fact that he was one of the bunch that killed Lyddie?" His voice grew progressively louder. "Don't you remember what they did to her?"

"We _know_ who killed her. It _wasn't_ Severus Snape."

"He would have, if he had been there!" Hannigan was shouting now.

"He would not have even been out of Hogwarts at the time!" Hannah paused to take a deep breath. "I think you had better leave now." She pointed to the door.

"Fine." Hannigan fairly spat the word in her face. "You choose your side. Think it over. I will give you two days."

"I don't need two days. Just leave me alone."

He walked to the entrance, ignoring what she had said. "If you choose to side with that Death Eater, I no longer have a daughter," he hissed before closing the door.

"So what?" Hannah murmured bitterly to herself. "I haven't had a father in a long time."

.-.-.-

At the other end of the dark corridor, Severus Snape watched in cold anger as Frank Hannigan came out of Hannah's quarters. Less than a minute after the man had entered the castle, the Potions master had heard from a house elf, a portrait, _and _one of the ghosts about the arrival of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. His eyes narrowed to mere slits as he watched Hannigan turn around and say something to his daughter before forcefully closing the door and disappearing in the opposite direction.

_Well, well, well. Hadn't talked to her father in years, had she? _He noiselessly followed Hannigan down the corridor. Right now, he just needed to make sure that Hannigan left without incident. He would deal with the man's daughter later.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed - that just makes my day! 


	18. The Next Morning

The next morning Severus Snape exuded such an air of malevolence that he might as well have been followed around by his own personal storm cloud. The staff, veterans of the Potions master's moods, knew better than to offer even a courteous good morning. Minerva McGonagall, watching him spear a sausage link with a vicious stab of the fork, just rolled her eyes. He finished breakfast in record time, drained a cup of coffee, got up, cast a venom-filled look in the direction of the Composition mistress, and stalked out of the Great Hall. The eyes of those students unlucky enough to have Potions on their schedule for the day followed him in trepidation. 

Hannah, at the other end of the High Table, had seen the look the Potions master had sent her way only too well. "Goodness. I wonder what got him all riled up," she said, looking down at Filius Flitwick with raised eyebrows.

He just shrugged. "He gets like that every once in a while. It'll blow over in a day or two."

"I saw him talking to McGonagall last night before heading up for bed. He seemed all right then."

Filius shrugged again. "Could be anything. Your guess is as good as mine."

Hannah looked on thoughtfully as the last folds of black cloth disappeared around the corner. He had been fine last night. She corrected herself – he had not been that different from his usual self. So what had happened?

All of a sudden, a thought hit her like a ton of bricks, causing a sudden rush of blood to her head. "Oh no," she whispered. Filius eyed her questioningly.

She looked at the clock – there was still almost half an hour before classes started. She got up and put the napkin down on her plate. "Excuse me, please, there is something I have to do right away."

Filius looked after her. "I hope she isn't going where I think she is going," he muttered to himself while buttering a nice piece of toast. He shook his head slowly, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. "But then, on the other hand…"

.-.-.

She hurried down to the dungeon, hoping she could catch him before the first of the students arrived. She peeked through the doorway of the Potions dungeon. He wasn't there. In his office, then? She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before knocking on the door.

"Enter," a sharp voice called from the other side.

She closed her eyes briefly, and then opened the door. He stood by the open supply cupboard, obviously in the middle of last-minute lesson preparations. If there was a flash of anger, it lasted only a moment, after which he quickly schooled his face back into the usual unreadable mask with its perpetual scowl.

"I'm afraid I am quite busy," he said coldly.

"Severus, I need to talk to you."

"Is that so? As I told you, this is not a good time. Good day." He turned away from her in obvious dismissal and started taking jars off the shelves.

Her shoulders drooped. "You can't ever make things easy for me, can you?" she said with a sigh.

He looked back at her over his shoulder. "If you are looking for Mr. Congeniality, I suggest you go up to the first floor and try the Defense Against the Dark Arts office," he said with a sneer.

"I want to talk to _you_."

"Go ahead, then, if you must." He turned back towards the cupboard again and started measuring a small amount of greenish powder into a brown paper envelope.

"All right." She stopped for a moment to gather her thoughts.

"Well?" he said impatiently, his back still towards her. "I haven't got all day."

She was just starting to open her mouth when he wheeled around, accusation on his face.

"You might want to start with why your father, whom you supposedly have no contact with, is all of a sudden coming out of your rooms in the middle of the night."

Hannah sighed, her suspicions confirmed. "Well, that is what I was coming to talk to you about," she explained patiently.

"You were, were you?" The sneer accompanying the words made it clear that he very much doubted the veracity of her words.

"_Yes, I was." _There was a note of exasperation in her voice. "And I certainly didn't expect to see my father here. The visit was a complete surprise to me."

She looked in his eyes, those black eyes that glittered icy-cold and fathomless right now, sending shivers down her spine. "I wanted to tell you that you were right. Last night, he did ask me to pass any information I might have concerning you on to him. Just like what you had expected him to do had he known that I met you on holiday…"

"So, daddy's little spy after all?" There was a bitter smirk on his face.

She smiled a lop-sided smile at him. "Severus, do you really think if I had agreed to his proposition I would come here and tell you about it?"

"Listen,_ Miss Hannigan_. Your father hates me. The feeling is completely reciprocated. He has been trying to get me into Azkaban for twenty years. For all I know, it _was_ he who set up our meeting in St. Comgan and who got you to apply for a job at Hogwarts. Tell me again why I should trust a single thing you say or do? "

When Hannah opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. "Just stay away from me. Mind your own business, and stay out of mine – and for the record, I believe that if you thought that I was aware that your father had visited, you might do exactly what you are doing right now to try and cover your tracks."

She looked at him quietly. "I _did _have an idea that you had seen him last night. But I would have come to you anyways."

"So you say." His voice was as bitter as dragon tears.

At that moment, they heard the door of the Potions dungeon open as the sixth-year N.E.W.T students started to arrive.

"Severus, promise me you will come up to my quarters after your last lesson so we can talk about this." She looked at him with pleading eyes.

"I don't see what good that would do."

"Promise me. Please." She swallowed hard. "Maybe there is a way to settle this."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. "If I tell you I will think about it, will that be enough to get you to leave now?"

A small smile played in the corner of her mouth. "It'll do for now."

.-.-.-.

When the last student left the dungeon deserted after the final lesson of the day, Severus found that he was quite busy still. He put away the ingredients used. He checked the cauldrons for any residue the students might have left. He rinsed out an empty phial, held it against the light, and rinsed it again. He polished the brass scale. It was when he found himself scrubbing at a barely visible spot on one of the students' desks that he realized that he was just trying to put off the time when he was finally _done. _

With a grimace, he banished the rag laced with cleaning potion to the sink. This was idiotic behavior. It was not like he needed an excuse. He owed her _nothing_. He wouldn't go. There. He had made up his mind.

He locked the classroom, and went into his office to start marking that day's assignments. Twelve inches of parchment on the uses of Fwooper feathers in silencing potions from the fourth-years, and three feet on the preparation and uses of a reduction of Sniggle-Eel stock from the sixth-years. Should make for fascinating reading. He snorted.

Halfway through the first essay he realized that he had read the first five or six paragraphs and not really seen a single word. He stuck his quill back in the inkpot, and drummed his fingers on the desk in a gesture of annoyance.

Why was it that she was sticking like a burr to the back of his mind? He got up and paced the room, back and forth. What happened last night should have come as no surprise. It was what he had expected, really. So why was it that seeing the evidence of her deceitfulness had stung like that?

And why was he pacing right now instead of sitting peacefully, marking essays? It should have been nothing. He hadn't promised. There was no obligation. Yet he knew that she was waiting for him; that right now, in her quarters, she would be watching the clock and hoping he would come. And in the middle of a line of thought that included 'serves her right' and 'wasted enough of my time already' he suddenly stood stock-still – and realized that at least a part of him wanted to go.

He sank down in his chair, and ran his hand over his eyes. _Why?_ What could possibly be gained from going? What could she possibly say that could convince him? What could make the suspicion that was ever-present in the back of his mind - questioning her motives, distrusting each word out of her mouth – go away? The anger he felt every time he heard her last name, or even just looked at her?

And then he saw her before him – "maybe there is a way to settle the matter." There had been a stab of fear in her eyes as she had said that.

And he found himself, almost against his will, getting out of his chair and warding the door behind him as he left the office. Because no matter how much he felt that it was an exercise in futility, that there wasn't a thing she could say to make him believe her – he suddenly realized that he wanted her to try.


	19. Settling the Matter

He knocked on her door with a hard expression on his face. She opened before he was even through knocking. "Severus…" There was relief in her voice.

"You have five minutes."

"Will you come in, or do we have to have this conversation in the door jamb?"

After a moment's hesitation, he stepped through the door.

"Have a seat – please?" She motioned to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

"I prefer to stand."

"All right, then." She walked a couple of paces away, then turned back to face him. Her face looked paler now than it had when he had come in.

"As I see it, there is really nothing I can say that will make you believe me."

_Well, she had that much right_, he thought with a smirk.

"So that leaves two options. One is Veritaserum. The other – well, Minerva McGonagall tells me you are a Legilimens. Is that true?"

He nodded cautiously. "I do have some experience."

"I have to admit that I'm not particularly fond of the idea of taking Veritaserum. The thought of not being in control of what comes out of my mouth for an extended period of time is – disconcerting." She was pacing back and forth in the room. "And then there is the problem that the use of Veritaserum is strictly regulated, and you would probably think that it is just a trick my father and I cooked up to accuse you of illegally drugging me." There was a bitter edge to her voice.

He looked at her, a hint of guilt eating at the edges of his mind. That had indeed been the thought that had just occurred to him.

Turning to face him again, she swallowed hard. "As a Legilimens, how… _precise_ are you? In other words, if I try to think of a memory, hold it in the forefront of my mind, how hard would it be for you to access it?"

He looked at her. "I can't guarantee it will be the first thing I see, but I should be able to find it fairly quickly." He had learned the basics from Albus Dumbledore, many years ago. Then, almost two years of training the Potter boy – no matter how much he had hated the lessons with the obnoxious teen, the constant practice had sharpened _his_ skill, as well. He was quite certain it wouldn't take him long to find what she wanted him to see.

She nodded. "Okay. Let's get it over with, then." She faced him full on. Her face was by now white as a sheet.

"For someone who has nothing to hide you seem to be quite nervous," he said with a sneer, a sneer that was more out of force of habit than anything else.

"There are things about me that I prefer you didn't know, yes. Not until I choose to tell you, anyway. Is that so terrible? Would you welcome the possibility of someone finding out everything that is in your head? Any memory, any secret?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

He was silent for a moment. _No, of course not. _

"Will you give me your word that you will pull out of my thoughts once you have seen what you need to see?" There was a slight tremble to her voice.

He looked at her without comprehension. _Why was she doing this? Why allow him access at all? The idea was obviously terrifying her._

"You're afraid." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Then why? You must know that no matter what I promise, once I access your mind there is very little you can do to stop me from seeing what I want to – unless you are an Occlumens, of course." Instantly, there it was again, that stab of suspicion. _What if she was? What if this was just another way to trick him?_

"Oh Severus…" She was close to tears now. "_That_ is why. Because I am so tired of seeing that look in your eyes. Because I don't want to spend the rest of the year getting scowled at every time I so much as look in your direction. Because I don't like you thinking of me this way."

_And why would that matter to her? Why would she give a shrivelfig about what he thought of her? _

"Will you give me your word?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Thank you," she whispered. "Then I am ready."

Her eyes met his, establishing the necessary eye contact. It surprised him what he saw there – there was fear, yes. That, he had expected. It was the trust in her eyes that surprised him. _I am afraid of what you are about to do, _her eyes said_. But I am not afraid of _you.

If he was any sort of gentleman, he would stop now, he thought. Thank her for the offer, and leave. _But what if she was counting on exactly that? That just the offer would be enough to persuade him?_ With a bitter smirk, he pulled out his wand. He wasn't a gentleman. Everyone knew that.

She was only a few feet from him. He could see her chest moving in short, quick breaths. Suddenly, he was aware that she was not the only one in the room who was nervous.

His experience with Legilimency had been essentially limited to two people – Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Unlike the Dark Lord, he had only ever been capable of wanded Legilimency. It was Dumbledore who had taught him, had told him what that particular art was all about – not so much about the memories, but about telling truth from lie. That memories were just a channel of accessing the emotions, emotions that told the truth. The little he had learned had been a by-product of learning Occlumency, an art that Dumbledore, in his case, had considered much more important.

After that, there had been little chance to practice – very few people were willing to hold still and let him rifle through their heads like through so many pages of a diary. Not that he could blame them. Harry Potter, by orders of Dumbledore, was the only one who had _had_ to submit to that.

He had found that there was a texture to the minds he touched. Albus Dumbledore's mind, trained as it was to only let him see and feel exactly what the older wizard wanted him to, reminded him of nothing so much as bland oatmeal.

Touching Harry's mind had been like plunging into ice water – the anger and hatred for his teacher coming through like so many sharp shards floating in the utter coldness. The early lessons had not been a pleasant experience for either one of them.

Once, he had tried his skill on one of the Dark Lord's terrified victims, destined to die soon anyway. He had never cared to repeat the experience.

What would he find when he touched hers?

"Are you ready?" Her nervous voice made him realize with a start that he had stood there for who-knows-how-long, lost in his thoughts.

He nodded, and focused. "_Legilimens_." His wand shot forward as he cast the spell.

_A girl of about eight or nine; a woman standing in front of her, shielding her from a much younger version of Frank Hannigan…_

_The same girl, a few years older, following a casket down the street to the cemetery…_

_Now in her twenties, at the dinner table, laughing at the story a very short, white-haired woman was telling…_

_Standing outside a door, with her arms around a tall, unattractive man dressed in dark monochromes…_

Severus barely had time to flinch as he recognized himself when, finally, he found himself in the memory she wanted him to see

_There was Frank Hannigan, coming through the door… _

"_Father, I consider Severus Snape a friend. And even if I didn't like him, I wouldn't do such a thing…"_

"_I don't think anything that he had to do could possibly be more barbaric than what you did to him…"_

Even as he was watching, there was still the bitter sting of doubt. Even memories could be faked – they could have staged the scene, conveniently leaving it for him to 'find'…it wouldn't be hard to do…

But no – even as the thought arose, he was able to put it away for good. Yes, they could have staged the scene – but there was no mistaking the emotions. The revulsion towards her father, the anger at his proposal – no, this was real, of that much he was certain. She was showing him the truth.

"_I was just giving that Slytherin scum a taste of his own medicine. He deserved to suffer…" _

"_I don't need two days. Just leave me alone_…"

"_If you choose to side with that Death Eater, I no longer have a daughter..."_

He should pull back now, he knew. He had given his word. Yet there was something else he could feel - cool and soft, like a spring breeze, as real as the anger and revulsion…but enjoyable…

At that moment the memory shifted again; there was just a glimpse of a girl looking through the window of a train, crying as it pulled away from the platform… and then it was over - he lowered his wand, and looked away. He had given his word.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then, "You saw?" she asked quietly. When his eyes met hers again, there was the pink of embarrassment in her cheeks. She looked away quickly when he nodded.

"And do you still believe…" Her voice trembled.

"No. I don't," he interrupted her quickly. He could see her exhale slowly.

"I would never purposely do anything to hurt you." The pink in her cheeks deepened. "Truce?" She stuck out her hand.

He nodded as he took it, a ghost of a smile briefly flickering over his face. "Truce."

"So, can we stop this 'Miss Hannigan' nonsense now?" There was a smile in her eyes. She still hadn't let go if his hand – it was he who with yet another nod finally pulled away.

"Good," she said, all of a sudden seemingly not sure where to look. The quiver was back in her voice. For a moment, it was quiet.

"I realize now…"  
"I don't want you to feel…" Both of them had started at the same time.

"After you."

Hannah looked up at him again. "I just want you to know that I completely understand that you had reason to be suspicious. Really, I do. I just hope that you can see now that I am not like my father. - What were you going to say?"

He just shook his head. "It wasn't important."

.-.-.-

Soon thereafter, he had excused himself. Hannah had walked him to the door, and stood watching until he disappeared around the corner. Walking back inside, she freshened up and got ready for dinner, a small smile still on her face. "I don't want to hear a word about it," she cautioned the mirror as she smoothed out the folds of the clean robe she had put on.

"Oh, I wasn't going to say anything. Your love life isn't _my_ concern," the mirror said with a yawn. "Of course, if you would take my advice, you might be able to do a lot better than that."

"I was talking about the robe. And it isn't anything like _that_," Hannah said with asperity. "He's a friend. And what exactly in your opinion is _wrong_ with Severus Snape?"

"Oh please. He obviously hasn't bothered looking into a mirror for years."

Hannah's eyes narrowed. "Well, right now, I think the only thing _that_ proves is that he is a lot smarter than I am." She turned with a flounce and left the room.

The frown quickly left her face as she walked, and by the time she was half way down to the Great Hall, she was quietly humming to herself. By the time she ran into Filius Flitwick in front of the staff room, she was smiling broadly.

"Well, you look mighty chipper," the tiny professor said, tilting his head questioningly. In response, Hannah bent over, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a squeeze that almost lifted him off the ground.

"Well, well," he said with a pleased grin, picking up his hat from where it had fallen to the floor. "What was that all about?"

Hannah laughed. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm just happy."


	20. Peeved

Two nights later, green flames flared up in Hannah's fireplace, and the head of Frank Hannigan appeared. She turned around in surprise – she had not expected him to actually contact her again. Hadn't she been clear enough the last time he came?

"Have you made up your mind?" He bypassed any attempt at a greeting.

"I told you I didn't need time. I am_ not_ going to do that."

"You've made your choice, then. I told you what the consequences would be." His eyes squinted menacingly at her.

"A great loss, I'm sure. How often have I seen you in the last ten years? Two, three times?" she said, a sharp edge to her voice.

He ignored her words completely. "Did you tell anyone?"

"Don't worry," she said bitterly. "I promised I would keep your secret safe - as long as I could, anyways."

He nodded with grim satisfaction. "See that you do."

"Even though there is really not much incentive to keep the promise, is there? Why should I?"

He laughed harshly. "Because you take after your mother in that respect. She had the same inconvenient sense of integrity." His voice came out strained, through clenched teeth.

Hannah took a step towards the fireplace. "Father, please tell me…"

"Enough time wasted," he interrupted her. "If you change your mind, let me know. Otherwise, have a good life."

"I intend to," Hannah said, as the flames flickered out and his image disappeared. "And it can only get better without _you_ in it."

.-.-.

It was turning cold – the last week of October brought fog and drizzling rain. Peter Pettigrew had long since left the farmhouse – it wouldn't do to stay too long in one place, not with the Auror force of the whole country after him.

He wouldn't spend the winter here, he had decided. An Apparition into a Muggle bank vault, and he would be set to spend the coldest months in style – the south of France, maybe, or the Adriatic Sea. Somewhere with sun and beaches. He would go Muggle, stay away from the magical world – and he would be far enough away from Britain to drop out of the Auror Office's sight for a while. And then…

He rubbed his chubby hands together in satisfaction. Too bad he hadn't been able to stay around to see Snivellus' face when he had come across the mess in his dungeon. It had been a lovely stroke of serendipity that he had found the place unwarded, with only one sullen student working inside. Much better than what he had planned originally.

Even so, it was getting harder to get into Hogwarts. Last time he tried, he had seen the little shepherd girl in the painting near the staffroom surreptitiously sneaking away. He had known better than to stay around after that.

There was a Hogsmeade weekend coming up though – that should award him plenty of opportunity to come up with something they would remember for a while. To let them keep thinking the final blow would fall at Hogwarts. He rubbed his hands together again and grinned – a few months in the sun, and he would come back and visit an old friend. And then the fun would really begin.

.-.-.

For once, the castle was quiet. Only the first- and second-years moped around the common rooms and the library, anxiously awaiting the return of their older housemates from the outing to Hogsmeade. Most of the other teachers had gone off to chaperone, which really didn't involve anything more bothersome than having a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Or, in Flitwick's case, a virgin piña colada with a cocktail umbrella stuck into it. Filius was quite fond of cocktail umbrellas. Hannah smiled at the thought.

She was walking down a second floor corridor when all of a sudden something hit her hard in the back of her neck, jolting her forward. Simultaneously, there was the sensation of ice-cold water splashing across her back and running down her spine. With a yelp, she turned around. A strange little creature with dark eyes and a wicked grin dangled upside down from the ceiling, holding another water balloon in his hand. "Haa! Gotcha!" he called out gleefully, cackling with delight.

With an effort, Hannah managed to compose herself. She looked up at him with a face carefully schooled into a bland expression. "You must be Peeves," she said calmly. "I have heard so much about you."

The second water balloon hit her on the left shoulder. The creature turned a somersault, and grinned from ear to ear. "Haahaa! Gotcha again!"

Hannah just stood there, smiling pleasantly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are the resident poltergeist, right?"

In response, the little man blinked out, and a moment later reappeared, dumping the contents of a rubbish bin over her head while giggling maniacally.

Hannah continued to smile as a piece of orange peel made its way from her shoulder to the floor. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm sure I will see you around." Peeves' eyes narrowed in consternation. He stuck out his tongue, blew a loud and rude raspberry in her direction, and then careened off down the corridor while muttering angrily to himself.

Brushing bits of paper off her robe, Hannah looked at the mess around her with a sigh.

"_That_ was quite an impressive display," a familiar voice came from behind her back.

Groaning inwardly, Hannah turned around to find Severus Snape looming behind her, an amused look on his face.

Hannah shrugged, an action that sent more orange peel flying. "From what I have heard about Peeves, I figured the best way to get him to leave me alone from now on is to not give him the reaction he wants, right?"

"Undoubtedly a wise decision." He reached up and, his nose wrinkling, plucked a piece of bread crust from where it had lodged on top of her bun. Holding it up for a moment between thumb and index finger, he looked at it disdainfully before dropping it on the floor. "I suggest you get yourself cleaned up. I will take care of – this." He indicated the puddle and the bits and pieces of rubbish scattered liberally across the floor.

Hannah blushed scarlet. "Thank you."

As she turned to leave, he was pulling out his wand. "By the way, the house elves have left a fresh pot of coffee in the staffroom," he said offhandedly, not looking at anyone in particular.

When Hannah, eyebrows raised, turned to look at him quizzically, he was busy vanishing the mess on the floor, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

.-.-.

After taking a hot shower and getting dressed in a clean robe, she made her way to the staff room. It was entirely possible that he had only wished to inform her about the availability of caffeinated beverages, but she hoped there might be a bit more to it than that. And she would take any overture he cared to make.

Since the day he had looked into her memories, things had really not improved that much. True, the anger and bitterness towards her that had radiated from him before were gone. She was more than thankful for that. Yet he seemed to be avoiding her - she had barely been able to get closer than ten feet to him since. She really was at a loss about what to do. Or even if she _should _do anything. He still evaded her eyes, and if she had hoped that there would be at least a partial return to the way things had been, she had been disappointed.

She was disappointed again when she found the staff room empty. She walked over to the coffee pot, poured herself a cup, and sat down in her favorite armchair. On the low table next to it was an assortment of magazines that various staff members had left out for the common use. She picked up a three months old copy of _Witch Weekly_ and started leafing through it.

Someone had cut out the recipe above an article that screamed 'Magical Weight Loss – Peerless Potion Melts Pounds Away Painlessly!' in bold print. Hannah snorted. Sprout? McGonagall and Hooch certainly didn't need it. A few pages further, she came to a half-finished crossword puzzle. Here was something to pass the time, anyway. She had just filled in 24 Across - _eleven letters, feathers from a ..., vital ingredient in memory potions - _when the door finally opened.

.-.-.-

After he had sent her off to change and cleaned up the mess, he had continued to patrol the corridors. The corners of his mouth twitched as he recalled the image of Hannah Hannigan, covered in bits of garbage, water dripping off her robe, trying to converse civilly with a _poltergeist. _Ludicrous.

It had seemed like such a 'Hannah' thing to do, though.

It was almost forty-five minutes later that his rounds brought him close to the door of the staff room. He had picked up his marking down in the dungeon. Might as well bring along something to do. She wouldn't be there, of course. It wasn't like it had even been an invitation, really. And even if she had understood it that way, she would certainly have better things to do than have coffee with someone who had thought and said some _more_ than uncharitable things over the last couple of months. Someone who then had listened to her defend him to her own father while invading her memories. Someone who then had been incapable of getting out the apology she deserved.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. She _was_ there – curled up in an armchair, her feet under her, a copy of _Witch Weekly_ propped up on her knees. The strange, unexpected twinge his heart gave annoyed him to no end.

By the time she looked up, the customary smirk was back on his face. "You're not actually reading that rag?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I was bored, and it beats _Quidditch Illustrated_. Oh, by the way - do you know what broomstick model was invented in 1901? By Gladys Boothby?" she asked, quill perched over page.

"The Moontrimmer," he said, walking over to his usual chair half-way across the room from her, pulling a table over next to it, and depositing a pile of parchment rolls.

"I should have known that," she muttered, as she filled in the blanks. "How about…"

"Really," he interrupted her, "I have better things to do than answer your trivia questions."

He unrolled a parchment and started reading.

"Oh. Sorry about that." He heard her get up and move towards the sideboard, then the clinking of cups and saucers. A minute later, she was standing at his elbow. When he looked up, she was holding a cup of coffee out to him. "I thought you might like a cup." There was a hint of humor in her voice. "It _is_ good coffee."

He hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the cup from her.

She mistook his hesitation. "You do take your coffee black, right?" she said with a note of uncertainty.

"It's fine." He finally took the cup. "Thank you," he added belatedly.

"Would you mind if I sit down for a bit?" She motioned to the chair next to him. "Or are you too busy? I'd just like to talk to you for a minute."

"I could spare a minute."

She sat down, and put her coffee cup down on the table in front of them. "I don't know about you, but it's been really – awkward for me since – well, you know. Some of the things you heard me say were not things I would have wanted you to hear like that." She looked up at him. "I know that the deal was to just go our separate ways after the holiday, and not see each other again. And I want you to know that I will completely respect your wishes if that is what you want. It's just that… well, I…"

She took a deep breath. "I meant what I said. I would like you for a friend, Severus. Just like in St. Comgan – someone to talk to, to do things with, sometimes. It's up to you, really. Again, I can totally understand if you just want to forget the whole thing and stay away from each other. As much as we can, working in the same place, anyway. I mean, if I were you, I probably would, too, especially with all that has happened since…knowing about my unfortunate relations, and such…" Her words were coming out in a rush, muddled and disjointed. Her face had gone a shade paler. "I know you haven't wanted to talk to me, and I'm sorry if I'm putting my foot in it again…I seem to be quite good at that. It's just that I need to know not to bother you again, if you really would just like me to leave you alone. – But I was hoping…" She looked down at her coffee cup.

For a moment, it was quiet.

Then, before he had a chance to answer, there was the sound of running feet and excited, urgent voices coming from the direction of the entrance hall.

Severus cast an apologetic look in Hannah's direction, got up, and walked over to the door. She followed right behind him.

He stopped one of the students running by. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked harshly.

The boy stopped, wide-eyed, still panting. "It's Professor Lupin… He's hurt badly…"

* * *


	21. Branded

Once again, Severus Snape hurried down the corridor with long strides, and Hannah ran after him at a half-trot, trying to keep up. They reached the entrance hall just as the doors opened, admitting a cluster of teachers levitating a stretcher. Minerva McGonagall impatiently shooed students out of the way while Filius Flitwick carefully guided the stretcher with its motionless burden towards the hospital wing. Professor Vector was not really contributing much other than a general wringing of hands and exclamations of dismay.

Snape strode up to Minerva. "What happened?" he demanded.

"We aren't quite certain. But really, Severus, that can wait."

Snape stepped up to the stretcher, and looked into the pale, still face of Remus Lupin. "How bad is it?"

"I'm sure Poppy will let us know." She impatiently waved him on. "If you want something to do, see that all the students get sent to their respective common rooms for the time being. We left Hooch in Hogsmeade to try and send everyone back here. You," she turned to Hannah, "help him. I'll go with Remus up to the hospital wing, so one of you will need to make sure all of my Gryffindors are accounted for. And _you_," she turned towards Vector, "find Sprout and tell her what happened, and then take care of the Ravenclaws."

Hannah nodded, and turned to the students milling around them. Several of the younger girls were crying. She put her arm around the shoulder of a dark-haired third-year, who with scared eyes and tear-stained cheeks looked after the stretcher as it gently floated down the corridor.

"Emma, I'm sure Professor Lupin will be just fine," she said soothingly. "I need you to help me right now, all right? See Brennus and Sarah over there?" She pointed to a couple of frightened first-years. "Can you take them back to Gryffindor Tower for me? I'll see you there later." The girl nodded, wiped her tears on the sleeve of her robe, and, still sniffling, walked over to the other two.

As Hannah straightened up, two upper-year Slytherin boys sauntered by.

"…Nah, he'll be all right - werewolves are notoriously hard to kill," the taller of the two said, a mocking tone to his voice.

"More's the pity," the other one drawled.

For a moment, Hannah's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed dangerously as she headed towards the two with her hands on her hips. "To your common room. Now. And not another word out of you."

The two looked at her insolently. The shorter of the two, a smirk on his face, had just opened his mouth to speak when a voice so icy it could have frozen mercury came from behind them. The boys swung around in terror.

"Is there something wrong with your ears, Herrick? I suggest you do as the lady says without further delay, or I can assure you I will make quite certain you_ will _regret it." The last few words came out in a low, threatening growl that made the two boys start back with wide eyes.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." The two took off at a trot.

Hannah looked at him, her hands still on her hips. "Really, Severus, I think I could have handled –" but the Potions master had already turned away, herding the next group of students towards their dormitories. With a sigh, Hannah turned to do the same.

After enrolling the help of the prefects, it only took another half an hour until the rest of the stragglers coming back from Hogsmeade were rounded up and summarily dispatched in the direction of their respective common rooms. Hannah called back the last of the Gryffindors, telling her to wait.

"Severus, I'm going to make certain all the Gryffindors are where they're supposed to be. Are you going up to the hospital wing after you get the Slytherins settled?"

He nodded grimly.

"I'll see you there, then."

.-.-

As Hannah entered the Gryffindor common room, she was inundated with shouts and questions. It was evident that Professor Lupin was quite popular with his pupils. She held up her hand against the barrage of voices and bodies. "I'm sorry; I have absolutely no idea at the moment. After we are done here, I'll try and find out what is happening, so if we can get everyone sorted out…"

Flustered, she realized that she had no idea how to conduct a roll call without a list of everyone who was _supposed _to be in residence in the Tower. Pandemonium ruled in the room – older girls trying to comfort each other in the corners, small groups of fourth- and fifth-years talking in loud, agitated voices, some blank-faced first-years who still hadn't figured out what all the excitement was about. She sighed. Well, if she didn't know who all belonged here, supposedly the students _would_. Spotting the red-haired Head Girl, she called her over.

"Miss Weasley, is it? Right, then. Let's have all the students stand with their respective roommates, please." With a shuffle and a murmur, the students grouped up. "Now, please look around you, and make sure everyone from your dormitory is here. Do we have anybody missing?"

A couple more minutes of confusion, and she ascertained that all students were present and accounted for.

"Good. I'm going to leave now. Miss Weasley, you're in charge. Don't let _anybody _leave until one of the teachers lets you know it is safe to do so."

The girl nodded to show she understood. Her freckles stood out dark against her pale skin. "Will you please let us know if Remus… if _Professor Lupin_ is all right as soon as you can?" Her voice quavered slightly.

Hannah put an arm around her shoulders, and gave her a light squeeze. "I'll do my best. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey is taking wonderful care of him." She had no idea why the girl was on a first name basis with the professor, but this was not the time to find out.

Having fulfilled her duties, she finally hurried down towards the hospital wing.

.-.-.-

When Hannah arrived in Madam Pomfrey's domain, she found most of the staff clustered in a corner of the large infirmary. Remus Lupin was nowhere in sight – she presumed they had moved him into one of the few private chambers. She walked up to Minerva McGonagall, who sat grim-faced on the edge of one of the many beds, right next to Filius Flitwick, who was nervously kneading his hands. They were talking together in low tones.

"How is he?"

The older witch looked up at her angrily. "Can't say that I know. Poppy unceremoniously shoved everyone except Albus out of the room. - Everything all right with my students?"

Hannah nodded. "They're shaken up, but otherwise fine. I think they would appreciate an update."

"Wouldn't we all," Minerva answered with asperity. Just then, the door opened again, and the Potions master entered in his usual stride.

He stopped next to the two women. "So what happened?"

Minerva shrugged. "A couple students went out towards the Shrieking Shack and saw Remus on the ground. Someone else was with him, but Disapparated as soon as he realized he had company. Remus was unconscious. That's all I know. Until Poppy deems it fit to let us know how he is doing."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened down in the dungeons?" Hannah asked, casting a worried look towards Severus.

"Your guess is as good as mine." The head of Gryffindor house stood up and nervously paced three steps back and forth. "I just wish that Poppy would tell us _something_…"

As if on cue, Poppy Pomfrey swung open the door and stood aside. "All right everyone - he is conscious and will be fine, and I'm going to let everyone in for about _five_ minutes, after which I want the whole lot of you to leave. _And I mean that_."

Remus Lupin was propped up against the elevated head of the hospital bed. He looked pale and wan, but very much alive. Minerva, who was the first to come in, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him. "Remus, how are you? What happened? I would hug you, but I'm not quite sure if that is a good idea at the moment," she said in an over-brisk tone that _almost_ managed to hide the way her voice was shaking.

Remus smiled. "Poppy assures me I'll be good as new in just a few days. But let's hold that thought until then." Apologetically, he half-lifted his arms, which were loosely wrapped in bandages.

After a few minutes of well-wishes and awkward pats on the leg, Albus rose from where he had been sitting on a chair next to the bed, and cleared his throat. "If you are all satisfied that Remus will live, I would ask you to please return to your usual tasks. After dinner, you can all join me in the staff room, and I will try and answer any questions you may have. But let us all give Remus some time to rest now. I'm sure he will be up for some visitors tomorrow, if you would care to come back then? – Oh, and Minerva, Filius, and Severus, stay just a minute, if you would?"

The Potions master had come in last of the little group. Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, he looked on impassively as the teachers one by one said goodbye to Lupin.

Hannah was one of the last to leave. On the way out, she stopped in front of Severus, and their eyes met. For just a moment, her hand rested on his arm. "Please, Severus, take care," she whispered. "I don't like this." Her eyes were dark with worry.

Severus felt the familiar irritation rise up at her words – but just as quickly, it faded away.

He nodded, and the corner of his mouth twitched for just a second. "I'll do my best."

.-.-.-

After the last person had left, Dumbledore turned to Remus. "If you think you have the strength, you should tell them the whole story now. Severus especially needs to be informed of what happened." Minerva raised an eyebrow, and looked askance at the Potions master.

Remus closed his eyes, and swallowed hard…

_After leaving the Three Broomsticks, he had wandered around Hogsmeade without any particular aim. Outside of Honeydukes, he had broken up a shouting match between a couple of Gryffindors and Slytherins before it degraded into something more serious. Some things just never change._

_On a whim, he had decided to walk down towards the Shrieking Shack. He had leaned against the fence, looking at the scene of some of his best and worst memories, when the spell had hit him from behind. _

"Petrificus Totalus".

_Stiff as a piece of wood, he fell hard against the fence before hitting the ground. A hand rolled him over with difficulty, and he looked up into the face of Peter Pettigrew, former friend, present enemy. _

"_Memories, memories," the small, pudgy wizard said, with a smile that bared his front teeth. "Do you remember the last time we were in there, Moony? Do you?" _

_Looking at the stiff, wooden face of the werewolf, he held up his hands in a gesture of dismay. "Oh, how thoughtless of me! Here, let me fix that. Just promise not to scream, or I might be forced to… well, we don't want to think about that, do we?" He muttered a word while describing a small circle with his wand tip, and Remus felt the muscles of his jaw and tongue unlock. _

"_There, now you can talk to me! Isn't that nice?"_

_Remus didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Peter's face darkened, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. "What, am I not worth talking to all of a sudden? You do realize I could have killed you just now, right? - I could have, you know."_

Buy time_, Remus though. _Find out what he wants_. "What is it, Peter?" he asked roughly. _

"_Oh, straight to the point, are we? No time for pleasantries? Very well, then. I mainly wanted to send a message to dear Severus. I just needed a messenger. Anyone would have done, really, but I _am_ so glad it was you. The Fates are still on my side, it seems." He smiled gleefully. "You see, we still have a score to settle." _

_Wormtail watched Remus' mouth tighten. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to kill you, Moony. But I have to do something, don't I? You weren't going to be as merciful as that, the last time we met. You would have killed me. You and Padfoot. I have to do something to pay you back for that, don't I? If it hadn't been for Harry…"_

_He walked around the stiff body of the werewolf, a finger crooked against his chin, as if contemplating his options. _

"_Do you realize that Harry is alive because of me? I had a clear shot at him during that last battle. It would have been easy, Moony – child's play. If I had, how different things might be now…" His voice trailed off, a little lost. Then he straightened up. "But I didn't do it, you see. I like to repay my debts."_

_Crouching next to the werewolf, he held up his right hand in front of Remus' face and flexed his fingers. "Look what the Dark Lord gave me to repay _his_, Remus. It was a good gift. Silver, but stronger than steel. And look what it can do…" He made a fist, and then stretched out his index finger. It grew longer, thinner, until it resembled a thin spike. "A silver stake to the heart – would that kill a werewolf? Silver and werewolves don't get along, do they? I wonder..." The finger reshaped itself to its original form. Peter pulled up the sleeve of Remus' robe until his arm was exposed almost up to the shoulder. Languidly, he drew his finger along the skin. He was rewarded with a sharp, hissing intake of breath. _

"_Does that hurt, Remus?" With pleasure, he looked down at the arm, where a thick, red welt was starting to rise. Blisters were forming along the line he had drawn. "Well, yes, I think it does." The lines seemed to give him an idea, since he all of a sudden smiled with delight. _

"_How about _that_! I had a note written, but this will be so much better…Just hold still for a moment. Oh, I guess I don't really have to tell you that." He snickered quietly to himself. "But just in case you can't keep quiet – _Silencio_!"_

_He drew up Remus' other sleeve, and with difficulty turned his stiff limbs so that the soft, white skin of the inner arm was exposed. Then, stretching out his hand, he drew his finger across it, again and again. For a while, the only sound was a low, sizzling hiss as tender flesh rebelled against the touch of the Death Eater's gleaming hand. That, and the ragged intake of breath and rough, choking exhalation which was all the response of which the werewolf had been left capable._

_When Peter was finished, he stood up and looked critically at his handiwork. "Yes, that will do nicely. The ending is a bit crabbed; I almost ran out of space. I think it is still quite legible, don't you?" He rubbed his hands together. "So, what should we do next?"_

_It was at that moment that they had heard the voices of people approaching. Peter looked at Remus with regret. "I could have had so much more fun with you, Moony. Oh well. But I'll leave you with one more souvenir to remember me by, old friend…" He lifted his wand, a ball of bright green fire erupted from the tip, and then the world exploded in fiery flashes of agony until the light finally, mercifully faded to black_

"…and that is all I remember until I woke up in here." Remus' smile was strained.

Filius Flitwick wiped the tears from his cheek while Minerva's face looked grim and pinched. "The curse he hit you with…?"

"Poppy is fairly sure that the effects will wear off in a while. I'm already regaining some sensation. It's just that as of right now, I don't have the use of my legs."

"Paralysis?" Minerva whispered sharply.

"Just for the moment. At least I fervently hope so," he quipped with a crooked smile.

"And your arms?" It was the first thing Severus had said. "What about them?"

Albus nodded to Madam Pomfrey. "Show him, Poppy."

"Is that really necessary, Albus?"

The Headmaster nodded. "I think he should see for himself."

With an acid look in Dumbledore's direction, she quickly unwrapped the bandages. Self-consciously, Remus held his arms out towards the Potions master. There was a collective gasp from Flitwick and McGonagall, and Severus took a step forward. The burn marks stood out starkly against the pale skin.

On one arm, he read his name: _SEVERUS SNAPE_

He looked at the other one. _SEE YOU IN HELL, TRAITOR._


	22. What Now?

Minerva gazed in horror at the werewolf, her hand in front of her mouth. "Oh Remus…"  
The tiny Charms master quivered with outrage. "Of all the beastly things to do…I guess we should be grateful those students showed up when they did…No telling what else he might have done…"  
Severus stepped back and leaned against the door post again, his lips firmly pressed together.

Albus nodded at Madam Pomfrey. While the nurse, still looking daggers, gently bandaged Remus' arms back up, the white-haired wizard gazed up at his Potions master, concern written all over his face.

"I think it is time you started taking this more seriously, Severus. I'm quite concerned for your well-being. We should take certain precautions…"

"_I _believe it's time for me to leave Hogwarts entirely. My continued presence here is a danger to both students _and_ staff." As far as he was concerned, it was the blindingly obvious. If he were gone, there would be no more reason for Pettigrew to keep hounding Hogwarts. It was the most logical conclusion.

Minerva stood up with a jerky movement, and walked over until she stood inches from the Potions master. "Don't be daft." She looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Not that she had to raise her eyes all that much. Like Snape, she knew when to use her height to full advantage. "We didn't get all the way through this war just to have you killed off by a renegade Death Eater now."

"Better me than someone else." He crossed his arms again, and leaned back a little further.

"I don't agree with that." Her lips pursed disapprovingly, she stared defiantly into his eyes.

Snape irritably tilted his head to where Remus was getting settled back into the pillows by Madam Pomfrey. "Lupin's crippled. I'm sure _he_ would agree."

"Remus will be fine. Your student is fine. No one is in serious danger except you."

He glared at her. "Tell that to Lupin. Ask him if he didn't feel in danger when Pettigrew hurled that curse at him."

"Well, yes, why _don't _we ask Lupin?" The mild voice of the Defense master had a sharp edge to it.

Both of them wheeled towards him with surprised expressions on their faces.

"Just for the record, I'm with Minerva on this one."

Snape looked at him disbelievingly through lowered eyelashes.

"Do I need to remind you, Severus, that what Peter did to me was really only marginally connected to you? That even if you were nowhere near this place, he still would have had plenty of motivation for causing me trouble?"

"Do I need to remind you that that is _my_ name that is so becomingly etched into your skin?" He almost spat the words at his colleague.

"I could think of worse things to have etched into my skin."

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Cheap shot, Lupin. I know you never cared much for me, but…"

"That's _not_ what I meant. And you're right. I never particularly liked you," Lupin interrupted him in a level voice. "And I fail to see what _that_ has to do with anything. Don't you think I know what you put yourself through the last few years? Personally, I'm getting just the slightest bit tired of the fact that you think _you _are the only one allowed to take abuse for people you don't particularly like." A half-smile flitted across his face, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.  
"As a matter of fact, I don't see why _you_ get to put your life on the line for people you don't particularly like for _years, _and _I_ barely get to do it once. And then you push me out of the spotlight again immediately, and offer to go away so more people you don't particularly like don't get hurt. I don't think that's fair. Filius, do you think that's fair?"

Flitwick scratched his head, looking confused. "Erm – no, wouldn't think so." Albus' lips twitched. So did Minerva's. All of them studiously avoided the Potions master's eyes.

Remus leaned his head back, looking worn-out and tired. The argument seemed to have sapped the last of his strength. "So if that is all settled, I think I could really use a nap now." He smiled apologetically at his colleagues.

Madam Pomfrey, taking that as her cue, stood up and clapped her hands together. "Enough for today, everyone. Out with you. Now." She busied herself, smoothing wrinkles out of the sheets and tucking the blanket in around Remus. The werewolf allowed himself to relax under her ministrations.

Standing up, the Headmaster patted him on the hand. "You rest now. I'll see you later."

"Try and talk some sense into the dunderhead, will you?" Remus asked quietly, casting another sideways glance at the Slytherin.

Albus chuckled. "I'll do my best."

.-.-.-

In the end, it had been the Headmaster's argument that he could not possibly find a replacement Potions master of Snape's caliber without at least a few months' notice that had won the day. That, and the fact that Dumbledore had proposed certain measures to be taken for the students' protection. There would certainly be plenty of grumbling and complaining when they were informed that Hogsmeade visits were cancelled until further notice, and that they could only be out on the grounds if accompanied by a teacher or as part of a group - but it had to be done.

Not that Snape was any happier with the restrictions Dumbledore had 'requested' of him. He snorted. _"If we are asking the students to not leave the castle unaccompanied, I must ask the same of you, Severus."_ As if he were a hapless third-year. As if he could not deal with Pettigrew. But Dumbledore had been adamant, and in the end he had given in, as always. Old habits were hard to break. When the Headmaster had broached the subject of an escort inside the castle, he had dug in his heels though. He had made clear in no uncertain terms that _if_ his colleagues were called upon to baby-sit him, he _would_ be gone by next morning, end of discussion.

It was a threat he hoped he would not have to act on – the truth of the matter was that he really had nowhere to go. At least, nowhere that he would want to be. There was no place in Britain where he would not sooner or later be recognized. And who would hire him? The width of his skill and ability became immaterial in light of his reputation.

Sure, he could spend the rest of his life alone in a basement somewhere, supporting himself by brewing potions for sale, but even to him, that idea was less than appealing.

Hogwarts was the only home he had known for the better part of three decades. He would leave if he had to. But it would feel strange to go.

Nevertheless, it could not hurt to at least explore options. That evening, several owls left the Owlery, carrying messages to different parts of the world.

.-.-.-

The next afternoon, he had just returned some books to the library when he ran into Hannah in the second floor corridor. Her face lit up with a smile when she saw him. Then the smile faded, and the look of concern was back.

"How are you? Are you all right?" She looked up at him with worry in her eyes. "You look tired." With one hand, she touched his sleeve. "I heard what happened. What an awful thing to do. I mean, I wonder what went through his head – someone _normal_ wouldn't do anything like that."

"Pettigrew hasn't been normal in decades," he said, his expression hardening. "And several years as the Dark Lord's personal lackey have not done much to improve his mental state."

"I hope I never have to meet him." A light shudder ran over her before she straightened up. "I was just going up to visit Remus. Would you like to come along?"

"Lupin and I are not exactly on the best of terms," he answered shortly.

"I noticed." She looked at him with eyebrows raised and the corners of her mouth turned up. "That doesn't mean you can't go up and see how your colleague is doing. Especially under the circumstances. It's almost time for dinner, so we can't stay long anyway."

When he just continued to stand there with beetled eyebrows, she gently nudged him. "Come on. I'm sure he won't bite."

Severus smirked. It _was_ still about three weeks until the next full moon.

Without waiting for a further answer, she just started walking towards the hospital wing. After deliberating for a second, he shrugged, and followed her. There was no actual guarantee that walking the corridors of the castle was safe. Might as well keep an eye on her.

Upon arriving in the infirmary, Hannah softly knocked on the open door of Remus' room. He looked up with a smile from the magazine he was reading. His eyebrows shot up when he saw his old school mate entering behind her.

"Hello, Remus." She sat down on the edge of the bed while Severus took up his usual position leaning against the door post. "We just wanted to see how you are. How's it going?"

"Much better. I'm regaining sensation in my legs, so I should be right as rain in a few days."

A wide smile broke over Hannah's face. "I'm so glad to hear that. That is such good news – isn't it, Severus?" She turned back towards him..

"Quite." His voice and face carefully preserved a neutral expression.

Hannah turned back towards the werewolf. "Are you in any pain? I heard what happened. - Remus, I'm so sorry; that must have been just awful."

He looked up at the Potions master. "The burns were a bit uncomfortable until Poppy tried out an ointment that mysteriously appeared on her desk early this morning. Seems that it is an archaic unction specially formulated to treat silver-related werewolf injuries. So obscure she had trouble even finding it in her desk reference. Worked like a charm." He cocked his eyebrows and smiled. "You, of course, wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

After a moment of awkward silence, Hannah started digging in the depth of her bag. "Oh, I almost forgot." She pulled out a small, wrapped package. "I brought you some chocolate. The good stuff. Swiss import, I would have you know." She placed it on the nightstand. "For later."

He grinned. "Now, who told you I like chocolate?"

She grinned back at him. "It seems to be common knowledge. I was treated to quite a few stories after I went back to the Gryffindor common room yesterday. Before I forget – I'm supposed to wish you all the best from, oh, about half the house, by the way."  
A few more minutes of small talk, and Hannah leaned over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Well, we better get down to dinner now. I'm so glad you are doing better."

"Thanks for coming by, Hannah. And Severus – _thank you."_

The Potions master nodded brusquely and followed Hannah out the door. Together, they began to make their way down to the Great Hall. Hannah kept looking at him sideways, a warm smile on her face.

"What?" he finally asked gruffly.

She looked at him as if trying make up her mind if asking the question would be a good idea or not. "So how long did it take you to find the recipe and then brew that potion last night?" she asked softly.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about," he said in a clipped voice. For a few moments they just walked without talking. Then Hannah spoke up again.  
"Have you known Remus for a long time?"

"He was in my year at Hogwarts. So, yes," he answered shortly.

She looked up at him.. "I didn't know that."

"How about you?" he said casually. "Do you know him well?"

She shrugged. "I've marked papers with him. That's about all. He seems nice enough. All the Gryffindors sure seem to like him." She grinned. "Especially the Gryffindor girls."

He snorted. "_Gryffindors_."

"Oh, I would bet there are some girls in Slytherin that have a crush on _you_." There was a light, teasing tone to her voice.

He snorted again, and walked a little faster.

When she spoke again after a minute, her voice was serious.  
"Severus, what happened between you and Remus?" she asked hesitantly.

The lines between his brows grew sharper, and his lips set in a tight line. He stopped short, and turned towards her. "If I ever feel an overwhelming need to discuss my personal history with anyone, I can assure you I will let you know. Now, if you will excuse me?" He gave a small bow in her direction. "I just recalled that there is something I need to see to before dinner."

Hannah looked on wistfully as he swept off in the opposite direction, mentally chastising herself. She should have known better.

.-.-.-

It was almost a week before she got a chance to talk to him again. He stopped her in the entry hall after dinner.

"The first Quidditch game of the season is tomorrow. My house will be playing Gryffindor," he said stiffly.

"Yes, I heard. Sounds like it'll be an exciting match." She smiled up at him.

"You are planning on coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it. I haven't been to a Quidditch game in years."

"I will see you there, then." With another bow, he had swept off again.

It seemed to Hannah that the better part of her Hogwarts acquaintance with him was spent watching his swirling robes retreat into the distance. She sighed.

Not that she felt all that confident in deciphering the message between the lines, but she could have sworn that this was, in fact, an invitation of sorts, and a possible attempt at fence-mending. She sighed again. It seemed the only time the man could be direct was when dishing out insults.

Well, she would find out tomorrow, she supposed.


	23. Quidditch

Come Saturday, Severus made his way over to the Quidditch pitch with time to spare. He sat down in the stands, selecting a seat with plenty of empty space around it. A few moments later, Filius Flitwick appeared, and to Severus' great annoyance made a beeline straight for where he was sitting.

"Ah, Severus. Mind if I sit with you?" he asked with a beaming smile.

"Not at all," Snape said in a tone that implied the exact opposite. Flitwick, oblivious, hopped up into the seat on his right.

"So, how is the new Seeker working out? I've watched some of the workouts; she's quite impressive."

While he was talking, Severus had taken off his cloak and indifferently placed it on the empty seat on his other side.

"I suppose we will find out today," the Slytherin answered stiffly.

"It should be an exciting season, don't you think? I think Stewart Ackerley will do Ravenclaw proud. Who knows, we might actually have a shot at the Cup this year."

Severus snorted. _Not if he had anything to do with it. _He made a mental note to add to the extra practice times he had scheduled for the Slytherin team already. Agila Slighcarp, the new Seeker, really was quite gifted. There was definite room for improvement, though.

"Um," Flitwick interrupted his thoughts, "is Hannah coming? I saw you talking to her yesterday…" His ears were turning slightly pink.

Severus looked down his nose at him. He was just about to brush off the inquisitive little wizard's question, when suddenly the thought occurred to him that while Hannah now knew the most pertinent events of his life over the last twenty years, thanks to McGonagall's wagging tongue, he still knew virtually _nothing _about her. Flitwick, on the other hand, did. Here, finally, was a chance to remedy the situation and even the stakes.

"If I recall correctly, she was planning on attending the match… You knew her before she began teaching here, I believe?" he said, looking out over the Quidditch pitch, where the Slytherin team was now warming up.

Flitwick peered up at him quizzically. "Well, yes, I've known Hannah since she was a little girl."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Did I ever tell you that I used to work for the Auror's Office before coming to Hogwarts? I didn't? Oh well… Anyways – Frank and Lydia both were students of mine then. I taught dueling skills, you know." He looked down modestly.

"Frank _Hannigan_?" He raised his eyebrows

"Well, yes. Hannah's parents. They got married as soon as they finished Auror's training, you see. We became friends."

"_You_ are friends with Frank Hannigan." Both Severus' voice and face expressed his utter disbelief.

"I _was_, Severus. _Was_. Oh, don't look at me like that." He looked up at Severus in exasperation. "It's not like Frank was always the way he is now. He used to not be too bad. Never very easy to get along with, mind you."

Severus grimaced. _That_ might be the understatement of the year.

"…Lyddie knew how to handle him, though." Flitwick continued, chuckling at the memory. "It was fun to watch, really. I've never seen a wizard more besotted with a witch than Frank was with Lyddie. He would start to build up a fine head of steam or get into one of his tempers, and with a touch or a word, she could neatly sidetrack him, just like that. Well, most of the time, anyways. She really was quite a lovely person, Severus."

"What happened?"

"She died." Flitwick looked down to where his hands were folded on his lap. "When Hannah was thirteen. Something happened to Frank after she died. Like she had been the one thing that kept his worst instincts in check."

Severus looked off without comment to where the teams were now leaving the field after finishing their warm-ups. The stands were beginning to fill with excited students decked out in their house colors.

"It was such a waste - just some no-account Dark wizards trying to get noticed." Flitwick's voice quivered as he spoke. "Thought they could finagle their way into Voldemort's good graces with a bit of Muggle torture. They had gotten hold of this whole family – husband, wife, two young children. They had already killed the father when Lyddie surprised them. It was the saddest, most senseless thing, really." A tear dripped off the end of his rather pointed nose. "She decided she couldn't wait for re-enforcements to arrive. By the time the rest of us got there, both Lyddie and the Muggles were dead."

"Must have been a Gryffindor," Severus murmured bitterly.

Flitwick sat up straight, and glared at him with indignation. "A Ravenclaw, actually, if you must know. She just couldn't sit by and watch those Muggles get murdered." He looked the Potions master up and down. Mainly up. "And if you think that makes her stupid or reckless, I _am_ sorry." He moved a quarter of an inch away and pointedly turned his head in the opposite direction.

Severus looked at him uncomfortably. "I, er…"

"Hannah's practically family. I will _not_ have you insult her mother." He was still rigidly staring off to the right.

"I didn't mean to imply…"

Flitwick turned around, and angrily poked a finger in Severus' direction. "Of course you did. And really, a simple 'I'm sorry' won't kill you."

At that moment they saw Hannah, dressed in a dark-blue teaching robe and a scarf in Slytherin colors, walk in with Remus Lupin and a couple of Gryffindors. The werewolf was out of the hospital wing and walking again, even though his gait was still stiff and lumbering. As the Potions master looked on, he saw them exchange a few words, and then Hannah waved goodbye to Lupin and turned towards the stands while he walked off with the Gryffindors.

Shading her eyes against the bright sky, she began scanning the seats.

Severus' heart gave that unwelcome twinge again. She was looking for_ him_. For a moment, there was an unaccustomed tightness in his chest. Right then, she finally spotted him, and her eyes lit up with recognition. After hesitating a moment, he picked up his cloak from the seat next to him, and put it across his lap.

When Hannah reached the bench, she was faced with two rather self-conscious wizards presenting carefully schooled expressions. Without further ado, she sat down next to Severus, just as Madam Hooch and the teams entered the pitch. "Oh good, I haven't missed anything!" she exclaimed.

Severus looked her over as she sat down.

"Slytherin colors, hm?" he asked her with arched eyebrows.

"Weeellll…" She looked slightly uncomfortable. "Um - since I teach all the houses, it wouldn't be exactly fair, would it? Here, watch this…" She picked up the end of her scarf. "_Go Gryffindor." _Immediately, the scarf changed color – it was now red with yellow stripes. "_Go Ravenclaw." _It changed to blue and bronze. She looked at Flitwick with a bit of a blush. He winked at her.

"I figured I will change it to red when Gryffindor is behind, and green when Slytherin's trailing."

"You better just change it to red then," he said coldly.

She cocked her eyebrows at him and grinned. "Just a bit confident, are you?"

"With reason. Slytherin is fielding an excellent team this year."

"Miss Slighcarp is the Seeker, isn't she? Nice girl."

"And how do _you_ know Miss Slighcarp?"

"She wrote an article she wanted to submit to _YW Magazine, _and asked me to proof-read it for her. I was quite impressed. You can be proud of her."

His glacial features softened marginally. It was a rare occasion when another teacher actually praised one of his students.

The game was on. Slytherin almost immediately went into the lead. With an apologetic glance at Severus, Hannah switched her scarf color to red.

"So, did you play, Severus?"

It was Flitwick who answered. "Yes, he did. He played Chaser for Slytherin his last two years."

Hannah leaned back so she could catch Flitwick's eye behind Severus' back. "Was he any good?"

"Oh, I dare say he did just fine." His blue eyes twinkled.

"Did Slytherin win those years?"

"Well, let's just say they beat Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw." He winked at her again.

Severus cast an annoyed look in Flitwick's direction, and cleared his throat. "That will quite do."

"It's nice to see things return to normal again," Flitwick said with satisfaction, sitting up again. "There was no Quidditch the last two years," he said to Hannah, by way of explanation. "With the war going on, the Ministry didn't deem it safe to have that many people assembled in one place. A very reasonable precaution of course, but a dire disappointment for the students. It has…"

He was interrupted when Hannah jumped to her feet. "_Whoa_!" She looked on intently, her hands clenching the fabric of her robe, as the Slytherin Seeker went into a steep dive after a barely visible, shimmering dot. Ginny Weasley, the Seeker for Gryffindor, was hard at her heels.

"Dang!" The girls had to draw up sharply before a wall, and the flitting golden shadow disappeared from view. "She almost had it!" She looked at him wide-eyed as she sat down. "Did you see that? That was _close_!"

Severus looked at her in amusement. "Indeed it was."

To his chagrin, she _did_ have to switch her scarf back to green for quite a while, but Slytherin pulled out a victory after about forty-five minutes of play when Agila Slighcarp managed to capture the Snitch in a dramatic dive that had the entire audience gasping in unison. The final score of 210 to 140 was enough to put a satisfied smile on the Potions master's face.

"Well, Severus, I think you better avoid Minerva for a couple of days," Flitwick quipped as they stood up to file out of the stadium. "She isn't going to be thrilled." He turned to Hannah. "The Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch rivalry is quite tradition. When Severus took over as Head of House in '85 after Professor Abernethy retired, Slytherin went on a quite unprecedented six year winning spree. Both the House Cup _and_ the Quidditch Cup, mind you. Minerva has never quite gotten over that." He chuckled.

"That was before the Boy Wonder arrived," Severus muttered under his breath.

Flitwick had heard him, though. "Even so, no one has managed to break your record so far, have they now?" He grinned. "Well, a new year, a new season, and so far, it's going well. Nice clean game today, wasn't it? Though I must say I am sorry for Miss Weasley – her last year, and they lose the first game. Not exactly a confidence builder."

From the smirk that graced the corners of the Potions master's mouth it was obvious he didn't share the sentiment. He only bowed his head to Flitwick and Hannah. "I'm afraid you will have to excuse me – I would like to congratulate my team before everyone heads up for lunch." A large, loudly cheering group of Slytherins, carrying Agila Slighcarp on their shoulders, was just now emerging from the field.

"Well, congratulations, Severus," Hannah said with a warm smile. "And tell Miss Slighcarp that I very much enjoyed seeing her fly." He nodded and left. They watched as he walked off and joined the group – soon only his dark head was visible above a sea of green and silver as the Slytherins moved in the direction of their common room to celebrate.

Flitwick looked after them with a sigh.

"What?" asked Hannah. "You don't seem pleased."

"It's just that Ginny -- Miss Weasley -- lost her two oldest brothers in the war…I guess I would just have liked to see something go her way. Be that as it may, I guess the best team won, and that is that. – Come, let's go get some lunch."

Hannah looked at him quietly - from reading Miss Slighcarp's article, she knew that her family had not been left untouched by the war, either. She hadn't asked which side the girl's father had fought on - it hadn't, at this point, seemed to matter.

As they walked off, she turned around one more time to look at Severus and his Slytherins. He never had answered the question she had asked him in the staff room – but she had seen him pick up his cloak and make room for her next to him. She smiled softly to herself. It was actually a better answer than she had expected.

* * *

A/N:

Thank you to all reviewers – it really makes my day to hear from you!


	24. Christmas Cheer

The middle of December arrived, and most of the students left for the Christmas holiday. Though Severus could have done without the relentless cheerfulness imposed on him by the remaining staff, he relished the quiet interlude the winter break provided. Much of the time he retreated to one of the lower dungeons, which served as his private laboratory – virtually unused during the rest of the school year, when the demands that teaching and house duties made on his time filled up his schedule almost completely. He could easily spend hours in here, in the almost hypnotic combination of gently simmering bubbles, spiraling fumes, and the rhythmic movement of the knife on the cutting board.

A couple of days before Christmas, there was a knock on the door. "Come," he called out while lowering the wards with a quick wave of his wand, only taking his eyes off the cauldron for a microsecond.

"Are you busy?" He recognized Hannah's voice.

"It does appear that way, does it not?" he said shortly.

"Can I watch?"

"If you can keep quiet and stay out of the way."

She moved close enough to see, but kept a respectful distance from his working area.

Taking a pinch of green powder between thumb and forefinger, he eyed it carefully and then sprinkled it evenly across the surface. For a second, the powder floated on top, suspended as on an invisible skin, before sinking into the depth of the cauldron. Small bubbles started to rise. Carefully, he stirred three times in a clockwise direction and then laid the long-handled pewter spoon aside. Grasping an unstoppered, bottle-green phial with the other hand, he leaned over the cauldron and waited, observing the reaction. The liquid inside slowly changed color, swirls of violet snaking through the midnight blue potion, sinuously expanding towards the rim. When the color distribution seemed about even, he added three clear drops from the phial with a practiced flick of the wrist. As soon as the first drop fell, there was a quick flash of light, and a silvery mist started to rise in delicate tendrils. He lightly blew across the surface of the liquid, and the mist dissipated.

He waited for a moment and then straightened up. "There," he said. He extinguished the fire and put a lid on the cauldron. "Now it just has to cool."

He looked up to see Hannah staring at him.

"What?"

"That was absolutely beautiful." Her eyes were wide. "Small wonder you like Potions. Thanks for letting me watch."

He snorted softly. "You are too easily impressed." He cleared off the work surface, returning the ingredients to where they had been stored.

"How did you know? When exactly to add the… whatever that is?" She pointed to the phial.

"Essence of Tunicate. And it's just experience." _No_, he thought, _it is really something more than that, something all the best Potion brewers possess. Something like intuition – the innate knowledge when something looks right, smells right, feels right._ Much of it _was_ experience, but some of it could not be learned. Nor did he know how to explain it.

"So what are you working on?" she asked, walking over to a shelf and looking at the dozen or so cut-crystal phials filled with potion in varying shades of violet.

"I am trying to improve the properties of the dragon pox cure. The present potion has not been changed since the Middle Ages and has some unfortunate side effect, including double vision and nausea. I'm hypothesizing that using bee venom instead of wasp stingers might increase the efficacy while concurrently reducing or even eliminating the occurrence of unwanted consequences induced by the ingestion of the potion."

Hannah looked suitably impressed.

'In small words, I'm trying to make it work better," he continued, one corner of his mouth curling up.

Her eyes narrowed before she broke into a grin. "Severus, you do know you're a prat sometimes."

"So I've been told on more than one occasion," he said with a smirk. "Now, why exactly are you here?"

She shrugged. "I was just wondering if you would like to come up for tea. There are some fresh scones, too, if you're interested. But I didn't know you were working."

He shrugged with an air of indifference. "The potion has to cool for two hours before it can be bottled."

"I would love the company…"

"I suppose I could spare an hour."

.-.

When they arrived in her quarters just a few minutes later, the air was scented with the fragrance of pastries fresh out of the oven. A tablecloth embroidered with poinsettias covered the table in front of the blazing fireplace. Small golden stars and delicate paper snowflakes hung from dark-green pine branches stuck into a white vase. A round-bellied tea pot and a plate heaped with apricot scones completed the table setting.

Severus looked at the scene with a scowl – not another Christmas-cheer-spreader. There was no shortage of those in the castle already.

"Have a seat." She walked over to a corner cabinet and took out cups, plates, and saucers.

"Just help yourself…oh, just a second." She removed a couple of small, covered glass bowls from the refrigerator. "I almost forgot. Lemon curd and Devonshire cream." She sat down on the sofa next to him and curled her legs up beneath her. "So that potion of yours – is it working? Did you have a chance to test it yet?"

He took a sip of tea. "Not yet. I will start testing within the next three days."

"What are you using to test it?" The look on her face made him think she wasn't really sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Crups. – They should not sustain any serious damage," he added, when he noticed her expression.

"But they are so _cute_," she muttered. "We had one as a pet when I was little."

"They will be exposed to the infectious agent, and then dosed with the cure. If all goes well, they will be just fine." He could see 'but what if things don't go well' written on her face so clearly she didn't have to even say anything. "If it doesn't work, they will be ill for a few days and then recover completely. The disease isn't fatal to crups," he added with an exasperated sigh. _Bleeding-heart females…_

"I'm glad to hear that. How will you be able to tell if it's working?"

"If it works, they will not get the dragon pox." He was enunciating slowly and clearly, as if addressing a particularly thick child.

Hannah drew her eyebrows together. "Don't talk to me like that, please. That much, I can figure out myself. I was talking about the side effects you're trying to diminish – the nausea and double vision. The creatures can't talk, after all."

"The current cure makes the creatures ataxic due to the disorientation caused by the double vision. It is an easily observed phenomenon. As far as the nausea, again, it isn't hard to tell when a crup starts vomiting up its supper."

"Care for another scone?" she asked dryly, passing him the plate. He took one with a smirk.

"So if all goes well, how soon will you be ready to test on human subjects?"

"Hopefully by next summer."

She leaned back into the corner of the sofa. "You love this, don't you? The research?"

"I find it stimulating, yes."

"Is that your dream? What you really hope to do one day?"

"I don't know what you are talking about." His face took on a closed-off expression.

"You must have some dreams, some idea as to where you'd like to be ten years, twenty years from now. "

He shrugged. "I haven't really given much thought to that. I suppose I'll still be here. Teaching."

For a moment, she was silent. "Don't take this the wrong way, Severus – but it doesn't seem like teaching is something you particularly enjoy."

"At least at the NEWTs level, there are some rewards."

"But is that what you want to do for the rest of your life? Don't you have any dreams? Things you wish would happen?"

There was a hard look on his face when he answered. "Wishes and dreams are nonsense – fine and good for little children, but I would think any adult should know better."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Severus."

"For what?"

She just shook her head and looked away, blinking rapidly.

Nostrils pinched, he looked out the window. _Heavens, she could be vexing_._ Most of the time, she was easy to read - but sometimes, he didn't have the slightest idea what she was going on about…. _He cleared his throat. "Do _you_ have any… plans?"

"I don't know if I want to tell you now," she said, turning to look at him. A smile lurked around the corners of her mouth, even though her eyes were still too bright. "You'll probably laugh at me. Or tell me I should know better."

"I promise not to laugh." With a smirk, he held up one hand as if giving an oath. "Or tell you you should know better."

She sat up, hugging her knees against her chest. "Well then – I want a small house and a garden, somewhere out in the country. I want someone I love living there with me - someone I can grow old with. I want to still teach. And I want to write the first great English-language Wizarding novel. There you have it. Not asking much, am I?" She laughed. For a moment, there was quiet.

"And you really think that might happen?" he asked.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Just call me a cockeyed optimist." She grinned. "But as a worst-case scenario, I would settle for two out of the four."

"Which two?"

She winked at him. "That, I'm not telling."

Just then, the clock on her fireplace mantle struck four. He put down his tea cup. "I have to go."

She got up with him. "Just a moment – I'll be right back."A minute later, she returned from the bedroom with a package in her hands.

"I'm leaving tonight to go to my aunt's for Christmas. So I thought I'd give you your present now." She shoved the package into his hands. "Go ahead, open it."

With an almost angry look on his face, he turned the package over in his hands. He didn't want a present. He hadn't asked for a present. He had nothing to give her in return. And he had enough books. Books, potion ingredients, and serpent-themed knick-knacks made up about 90 percent of the presents ever given to him over the last twenty years.

"Come on, open it."

"I'm not in the habit of giving Christmas gifts."

"But I _am_. I love giving gifts. So let me, please?" She smiled at him, a soft look in her eyes. "I don't want a present, and if you give me some sort of guilt offering when I come back, I shall positively strangle you. I just want to see if you like what I got you. So would you go ahead and _open the present already?_" She was lightly bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

Severus stifled a sigh. He would just have to fake some enthusiasm so as not to disappoint her, and get this over with as quickly as possible. Hesitantly, he tore open the red wrapper and set the package down on the back of the sofa. Then, with narrowed eyes and a plastered-on smile, he lifted the top off the plain cardboard box.

The first thing he saw was a cloud of something soft. He lifted out a scarf-and-mittens set, Slytherin green, with three narrow bands of silvery-grey across the ends of the scarf and the cuffs of the mittens. He knew that the mittens would never make it onto his hands, but the scarf…

He tentatively rubbed the buttery-soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

"It's cashmere," she said, blushing slightly.

"Did you make that?"

She nodded. "You know I like knitting."

For a moment, his eyebrows drew together into a straight line. "It doesn't, um, change colors, does it?"

She laughed out loud. "No. I'm afraid the only thing it does is keep your neck warm." Taking the scarf from his hands, she reached up, and knotted it loosely around his neck. It felt warm and feather-light against his skin. She stepped back with a look of satisfaction. "Yupp, looks good on you. – Now, keep going." She nodded towards the box. His brows furrowed again. _There was more?_

When he looked inside, he saw a plain wooden box, the top secured to the bottom with a green ribbon. Hesitantly, he took it out, pulling one end of the ribbon to undo the bow.

The box was lined with black velvet. Nestled against the velvet there were seashells – ridged scallops, heart-shaped cockles, small, almost translucently pink tellin shells, a large whelk, the butterfly-shaped shell of a chiton. It was obvious that none of them were especially beautiful or rare. He looked up at her with a look of confusion and saw that she had blushed again.

"They're from our beach," she said. "In St. Comgan."

_What a silly, sentimental gift…_Yet he felt himself swallowing hard. And then swallow hard again. Whatever the look on his face was, it seemed to satisfy her. She let out a long breath of relief.

"Thank you." He cursed his hoarse voice. He was glad he could busy himself by re-packaging the gifts. "But - I really do need to get back down to my cauldron."

Just before he left, she pulled him into a quick embrace. "Happy Christmas, Severus."

* * *

A/N: Thank you to all reviewers!

Standard Disclaimer applies - it's still JKR's.


	25. Surprise!

Once the torture of Christmas was over, Severus breathed a sigh of relief. And found himself looking around the room when he entered the Hall at mealtimes. He did not, after all, know when she would come back.

It had come as a bit of a surprise to him how much he actually noticed her absence. So when he came up for breakfast two days later and saw her sitting at the table in animated conversation with Flitwick, the unbidden smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth didn't surprise him as much as it otherwise might have. After schooling his face back into its usual impassive expression, he greeted them with a nod and sat down.

Hannah smiled warmly as their eyes met. "Severus! How was Christmas?"

He just snorted. "And yours?"

"Wonderful! I never got to spend much time with my aunt, so it was great getting to know her better. And Tom, her husband, of course."

"Your mother's sister, I presume?"

She nodded. "Yes. But Aunt Karen's much younger than my mum; only three years older than I am. It almost feels strange calling her 'aunt'. They're expecting their first baby this summer."

Snape's nose wrinkled in distaste. "How terrific for them."

Hannah laughed. "Honestly, Severus, I have no idea why you are a teacher, as much as you love kids." She winked at him. "So, how are your crups?"

"I'll know in a day or two. So far, so good. They are still in the incubation period at the moment. I'm going to check on them after breakfast."

"Would you mind if I came along?"

He looked at her doubtfully. "There is very little of interest to observe at the moment."

"Well, if I get bored spitless, I can always go back to the castle, can't I? - Coffee?"

.-.-.-.

As the two left after breakfast half an hour later, Albus Dumbledore slid into the now-empty seat next to Flitwick.

"Those two seem to get along surprisingly well."

"They do, don't they?"

"Remus told me that Severus came to see him with Hannah when he was ill."

Flitwick nodded with a grin. "Interesting, isn't it?"

"So it seems things are going well."

"This_ is_ Severus Snape we're talking about. Things could go to hell in a handbasket before you can say 'bubotuber'." Flitwick ruefully shook his head.

"True, true. - But she likes him, doesn't she?"

"Oh yes." Flitwick grinned.

"Anything more than that?"

"Maybe." He cast a shrewd look up at the Headmaster.

"So, does he know?"

"I don't think so."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it? For both of them?"

"I quite agree…"

Two pairs of old blue eyes twinkled in unison.

.-.-.-.

Meanwhile, Severus and Hannah were met at the back gate by Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts' game keeper. He looked flustered when he saw that someone was with the Potions master.

"Beg yer pardon, ma'am. If I'd known yeh'd be along, I'd not 'ave bothered comin'. Professor Snape's not s'posed to be out on 'is own. Dumbledore's orders."

Looking up at the half-giant distastefully, Snape just motioned him on. "Let's just go, shall we?"

The gamekeeper swung his wooden leg – courtesy of a nasty spell during the last battle – around and headed back towards the bestiary. Hannah and Snape followed close behind.

He left them before a low, wooden building, barely more than a shack, which Hannah hadn't noticed before.

"Well, I'll leave yeh 'ere. If yeh need ter find me, yeh know where I'll be, Professor." He nodded at Hannah. "Good day, ma'am."

Before they entered the building, Snape pulled out his wand. "If you will permit me?"

"Permit what?" Hannah asked, looking a bit apprehensive.

"The Aeroscindus Charm. A distant relative of the Bubble-Head Charm, except that we will not look like complete idiots," he answered dryly. "I hope I do not need to remind you that dragon pox _is_ extremely contagious. The charm will only last about an hour and a half, but we should be quite done by then."

"Be my guest."

A few muttered words, and Hannah felt a sudden coolness around her head. At the same time the ambient noise level dropped down several notches. When she reached up with her hand, it felt like touching an invisible, rubbery membrane, giving slightly to pressure.

"Isn't that a clever little charm?" she said admiringly. Snape scowled.

"Shall we go in then?"

When they entered, Hannah saw two large pens, each containing an even dozen crups in individual runs. Each animal was marked with a different colored tag on the ear.

Snape nodded towards the ones on the left. "Those have already been medicated with the potion. The other ones have been exposed to the infectious agent, and will be dosed as soon as first symptoms of the disease occur."

Hannah looked at the small dog-like creatures, all of which were yapping and jumping as close to the partition that separated them from the humans as they could, furiously wagging their bifurcated tails. "Can I pet them?" she asked timidly.

Severus looked at her with amused exasperation. "If you must. Just be sure to wash your hands well afterwards."

Leaning over the top of the panel, Hannah scratched one of the white and tan animals behind the floppy ears. "Aren't you the cutest thing?" She reached down, and scooped it up. "Look at him. Doesn't he have the cutest little face? I love that patch around the eye. How old are they? They don't look fully grown yet."

Severus meanwhile had walked over and unlocked a wooden cabinet against the back wall. Opening a large ledger, he looked down, then up.

"They are four months old at the present. And that one is, in fact, a female."

"What's her name?"

Severus looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "She is Group A, Number 7."

With a laugh, Hannah put the crup back in her pen. "So, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Well, if you wish to make yourself useful you could write down the results of my examination." He handed her the ledger and a quill, and entered the first pen. "Group A, Number 1. Oral mucosa normal, sub-mandibular lymph node on the right slightly enlarged, no evidence of nausea, no evidence of lethargy, muscular coordination good, no evidence of erythema…"

By the time he got through examining the last crup, Hannah was starting to look slightly cross-eyed. Severus allowed himself a hidden grin. It wasn't as if he hadn't warned her.

She closed the ledger with a snap. "Well, that was terribly interesting, but I think I have had enough for today. Are you finished?"

He shook his head. "Not quite yet."

"I'll see you later then. How about coming up this evening for a glass of wine? You can bring a book if you want to. I just feel like being lazy. If you have time, of course."

"We'll see."

.-.-.-

He later was never quite sure why it had been so easy to slip into the habit of going up to her quarters for an hour or two, for a cup of tea or a glass of wine. Maybe it was because there was so little that was required of him. There was no need to keep up a constant stream of conversation – if they ran out of things to say, she would just get out her knitting or he would get out his book, and it was all right. After a few times, she told him to consider the invitation implied – _just come_.  
"...As long as you don't get offended if I tell you to sod off if I am in the middle of something," she had added with a laugh. And a few times, she did just that. More often, she would just pour him a drink and tell him to make himself at home, and then join him in front of the fire when she was done with her work. Some days, Flitwick would show up as well, and on those days, the conversation and the wine would flow until late at night. Over all, it was quite a satisfactory arrangement. He tried to be careful about not being seen in public with her too often, but it wasn't too long until he found out that what he considered his private life was not as private as he had thought.

.-.-.-

One afternoon just before the start of the new term, Severus was on his way to McGonagall's office to pick up the new roll call sheets when Stella Sinistra, the Astronomy mistress, fell into step with him, apparently on a similar quest.

"Well, are you ready for all our darling pupils to return, Snape?" she asked with a wicked grin.

He just cast a frosty glare at the only other Slytherin on staff. There was no need to answer what had clearly been a rhetorical question.

"Severus, by the way…"

"What?"

"I've been meaning to ask… Well, it seems I've seen you with our Composition mistress off and on lately?"

"I fail to see how that is any of your concern."

"She _is _Frank Hannigan's daughter. And if I remember correctly, at the beginning of the year you were every bit as put off by the idea of having the daughter of… _that man_ around as I was."

"She is not a danger to the school."

"Really? And you know that _how_?"

"That is between me and her. Suffice it to say that I am satisfied on that account."

"So you trust her?"

"Yes. I do," he answered with a half-smile, recognizing the words as truth even as he spoke them.

Sinistra sighed. "Well, if you say so…I suppose I shall have to take your word for it." She looked up at him with a sly grin. "So are you and she…well, you know…?"

The stare Severus gave her had gone from merely frosty to positively glacial. "Let me reiterate. This is absolute none of your concern whatsoever."

Just at that moment they arrived at McGonagall's office, which effectively ended the conversation. Thank heavens for small blessings.

After Sinistra had left with her paperwork, Severus stalled for a minute or two to make sure that the meddlesome witch was good and gone. McGonagall looked at him over the top of her square glasses.

"Is there anything else you wanted, Severus? "

"Nothing in particular."

"How are things going? Hear any more from Pettigrew?"

"Nothing at all."

She nodded, satisfied. "Oh, by the way, you have a big birthday coming up, aren't you? Do you have any plans?"

Snape looked at her through narrowed eyes. "I _plan_ to ignore it. And I strongly suggest that everyone else follow the same course of action." With that, he scooped up his paperwork and swept out of the room.

If he had turned around in the doorway and seen the smirk on McGonagall's face, he might have been worried. But of course, he didn't...

.-.-.-.

January 9th, a Sunday, and Professor McGonagall had fire-called Hannah in the morning. "It's Severus' birthday today. His fortieth. We are going to have a surprise party for him in the Headmaster's study this afternoon. Be there at 3:45. Don't be late. The password's Curly Wurly."

Hannah snorted – well, how nice of them to give her so much advance warning. And a surprise party? For Severus? Why did that sound like such a terrible idea? She sighed. It is the thought that counts, she reminded herself.

So at a quarter till four she stood in front of the gargoyle, recited the password, and let the moving stairs carry her up. As she arrived, Dumbledore greeted her by handing her a blowout noisemaker, his eyes crinkling. "I told him to come up for a meeting regarding the misconduct of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Just line up over there – I've raised a concealment charm; he won't be able to see anyone until I lower it."

As she walked over, the air seemed to shimmer and waver for a moment, and then she could see her colleagues lined up against the curved wall. After politely greeting everyone, she stood next to Remus Lupin, who was clutching a noisemaker identical to her own. "Does this sound like a good idea to you?" she asked him in a whisper.

Remus just shook his head. "He is going to absolutely hate this," he whispered back with a chuckle.

Almost everyone was there already. The last two still missing - Professors Vector and Trelawney – showed up within the next couple of minutes, and then there was quiet, only occasionally interrupted by a muttered question or suppressed giggle.

At precisely four o'clock, there was a knock on the door. The room grew quiet as the proverbial church mouse. The headmaster walked over and opened the door. "Ah – Severus, there you are. Come on in, come on in."

The head of Slytherin house stopped right inside the door. His black eyes were glittering dangerously, and his face was set in stony lines that would have made lesser men quiver. "I will have you know that these allegations are absolute rubbish. I have attended every game and practice, and there has been absolutely nothing that…"

"We will get to that. Have a seat, will you?"

"I prefer to stand."

"Severus, have a seat." The tone of Dumbledore's voice left no doubt that this was an order.

Resentfully, the Potions master sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Now, if you would…"

"Just a second." He locked the door. "It's just that I have a little – _Surprise_!" He lowered the concealment charms, and immediately loud shouts of "_Surprise_" and "_Happy Birthday, old chap_" filled the room, while the noisemakers went off in a wide variety of jungle animal sounds. In a moment, Snape was surrounded by people shaking hands, clapping him on the back, and repeating birthday wishes, while the clouds of pink and purple glitter that had spewed from the noisemakers settled on his hair and shoulders. While Dumbledore beamed, Snape looked like he had developed a sudden, excruciating toothache. Hannah's heart clenched in sympathy – but gads, the look on his face...the corners of her mouth started to twitch treacherously.

At that point, Dumbledore clapped his hands, and a table loaded with assorted cakes, desserts, and punch appeared. "Let's first sing 'Happy Birthday' to our dear Severus, and then - let's celebrate!" As he started to sing off-key, a host of fairies appeared, arranged themselves to spell out '40' in two-foot tall numbers near the ceiling, and began sprinkling confetti over the assembled crowd. Hannah barely managed to suppress a grin - she was almost certain that this was Flitwick's contribution to the party. Fairies were his decorating specialty.

As attention shifted from Snape to the food, and people started to fill their plates and disburse into small groups, she walked over to him. She gently squeezed his upper arm in sympathy. "I am so sorry," she whispered. And then spoiled the whole effect by starting to giggle as she reached up and brushed pink sparkles off his shoulders. "Happy birthday, Severus."

He shot her an Icy Glare of Death, which only made her giggle more.

At that moment, Dumbledore clapped his hands again. "Let's open presents, shall we?"

Hannah stepped back, and Severus, his facial expression vacillating between rigid blandness and a grimacing smile that looked like it was starting to hurt, began unwrapping the presents, which, as he would have expected, mostly came from Flourish and Blotts. Besides the assorted books, there was a bottle of wine from Remus Lupin, a serpent-shaped paper weight from Minerva McGonagall, something from Argus Filch that Severus hastily stuck in a pocket without letting anyone see, home-made fudge of a dubious color from Hagrid, and finally, a pair of thick woolen socks in a violent shade of green from Albus Dumbledore.

When soon thereafter Sibyll Trelawney descended on him, informing him that she had brought her tarot cards and would be more than happy to do a birthday reading for her _dear_ Severus, so as to inquire of the Fates what cards Destiny held for her _dear_ Severus this coming year, he shot a venomous look at Hannah that could not have said 'help me, and be quick about it' any clearer if he had spelled it out in fairies on the ceiling. She moved over next to him, and cleared her throat.

"_Dear_ Professor Trelawney, I am _so _sorry, but I will have to abscond with Professor Snape for just a minute. I'm afraid I have something to discuss with him that just can't wait. You will forgive me, won't you?"

Trelawney looked at her through her overly-large spectacles, tossed back her head and with a humph and a clinkety-clank of bangles twirled around and flitted off in Remus Lupin's direction.

Grabbing Hannah by the upper arm, Severus dragged her over towards Dumbledore.

"Don't say a word, or you'll be sorry," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Since you didn't have the decency to warn me, you can at least help me get out of here."

He straightened up to his full height as they approached the old wizard.

"Headmaster, as much as I… enjoyed this, I'm afraid I will have to leave now. Before the… lovely surprise, Miss Hannigan and I had made plans to mark essays, and since it is imperative to have them back to the students tomorrow, I am afraid we will have to go and leave everyone else to enjoy themselves without us."

When Dumbledore looked questioningly at her, Hannah did her best to just nod her head and look as innocent as possible. "I am afraid so," she said.

The Headmaster's face showed disappointment, and he opened his mouth – and then closed it again. Looking from one to the other, his eyes began to twinkle. "Well, I suppose it can't be helped. You two youngsters go and have fun."

It may have been a sign of Severus' desperation that he didn't even bother with a retort, but simply nodded, grabbed her by the arm again, and steered her out the door.

* * *

A/N:  
It has recently come to my attention that ffnet frowns on responses to reviews in author's notes, so I am trying to take thank-yous and responses to e-mail as much as possible.  
Please know that I am so grateful to every single one of you who is reading and reviewing! 


	26. The Thing With Feathers

This really is more two short chapters instead of one long one. So imagine a nice long chapter break in the middle. Once again, this chapter was beta-read by the fabulous lalaluu, who actually worked through three separate drafts when I kept rewriting and adding scenes. The woman deserves a medal.

* * *

"So what now?" she said when they reached the bottom of the staircase. "How about a walk? Some fresh air? It should be nice and quiet up on the roof; it's too cold for many of the students to be out." 

"I told the headmaster that we would be marking papers. It would probably be more appropriate to retreat to either one of our offices," he said, brushing glitter and confetti off his shoulders and hair.

Hannah looked at him with an ill-concealed grin. "Severus, I may not know much, but I can tell you with utter and complete conviction that the headmaster is under no illusions whatsoever concerning your urgent essay marking."

With a sigh, Severus conceded. "Very well, then. The roof it is." With a wave of his wand, he banished the last glimmering particles stuck in his hair.

"That was quite a party," she said in amusement as they made their way down dark hallways and up winding staircases.

He snorted. "If I didn't know better, I would believe Albus Dumbledore hates me."

"I'm sure he had the best intentions."

Another snort coming from Severus' direction told her that he was not at all convinced.

Reaching the top of the staircase, they opened a small, but heavy oaken door and found themselves on the roof of the castle. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon, but there was still enough light to see. The half-frozen lake lay below them, still and grey like a pewter plate. Far off, the lights of Hogsmeade blinked on one by one, gleaming through the gently rising mists.

They walked along the parapet, following the wall until they came to a small turret, rounded and windowless. The only door had been bricked up a long time ago. Severus eyes went to it, then to her. There was a peculiar expression on his face.

"What?" Hannah looked at him questioningly.

"Nothing. Let's keep going."

They kept on walking until the wall ended against the West Tower.

"Do you want to go in?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

Hannah leaned against the crenellated battlements.

"It's beautiful. Not beautiful in the same way as the South of France, but beautiful nonetheless. Not as obvious or flashy, maybe, but the bones of the land are good." She turned to Severus. "Where did you grow up?"

"Shropshire," he answered shortly.

"That's pretty country. Are your parents still alive?"

"Yes."

"My mother died when I was thirteen."

Snape looked away. He wasn't about to tell her that he already knew that.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. And you?"

Her mouth set in hard lines. "No. Father never wanted children in the first place. I think he only gave in that one time to make Mum happy."

"He told you that? That he didn't want children?"

"Oh yes. More than once," she said in a taut voice. "Every time he got upset with me. And then, when Mum died – he couldn't stand to have me around any more. I guess I look too much like her, and he wanted her, not me…" She turned away to where he couldn't see her face any more. "He wouldn't even let me return home during the holidays."

"Where did you go?"

"Filius invited me to stay with him at his sister's house in the Lake District. She has a rather large family – lots of grandchildren and great-grands my age. I don't know what I would have done without him. And her."

"Flitwick's sister?"

"Filia." Hannah laughed, and turned back towards him. "Their parents weren't the most imaginative when it came to names, were they? Good thing they only had two children."

"Is she like him?"

"Like two peas in a pod." She smiled affectionately at the memory. "She is every bit as smart and funny and caring as he is. - And as short," she added with a grin. "If you ever get invited, go. She is one of the best cooks you'll ever meet."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said dryly.

Looking out over the lake, now almost invisible in the deepening dusk, she continued on, almost to herself. "When Mum died, Father burned everything that was hers -- every picture, every item of clothing, everything that would have reminded him of her. The only thing of hers I have is because of Filius. It is like he knew what would happen…" Her voice faded out. With an effort, she pulled herself together and looked at Severus. "And I don't know why I am telling you all this. Anyways, complete change of topic – did you notice that there wasn't a present from me?"

"No," Severus lied. He had, as a matter of fact, noticed.

"I did get you something." She looked at him with a self-conscious, embarrassed smile. "Well, it wasn't really for your birthday, because I didn't even know it _was_ your birthday until this morning, since no one bothered to tell me before then." It was her turn to throw an accusatory glance in his direction. "Anyways, I saw it when I went shopping with my aunt – it just reminded me of you…"

She pulled a small velvet box out of the pocket of her robe. "I didn't want to give it to you down there. If you hate it, that's all right; I won't be offended. I don't even know if you'd wear something like this…" Her voice trailed off. "Here." She pressed the box into his hand.

When he flipped open the top of the box, he could hear her hold her breath. Inside, there was a simple silver pendant in the shape of an anchor, hanging from an equally simple chain.

_The anchor. For millennia, the symbol of hope – that which holds you in place when the storms try to break you on the rocks. _Severus found himself swallowing hard at a silly, sentimental gift for the second time in less than three weeks.

"Remember when we talked about hopes and dreams?" she said quietly. "When I saw this, I just knew I wanted to get it for you. You don't have to wear it. Just keep it in a pocket or something. If you want, that is." She was still studying his face closely, as if worried that she had somehow offended him.

Avoiding her eyes, he very carefully closed the box and put it in his pocket. "Thank you."

A few awkward seconds later, he cleared his throat and looked back up. "I don't know if it is of interest to you or not, but as of today, I am finished with this phase of the potions trial."

She turned to him in anticipation. "And?"

"It appears as if the experimental potion works as well or better than the old one in preventing the disease and in treating it once early symptoms appear, and only two of the test subjects showed any sign of side effects."

"Oh Severus –" She grasped his upper arm for a moment, her eyes shining. "A success, then. That's wonderful. What a great birthday present for you. So what happens next?"

"Nothing much until the summer holiday. I might, if time permits, run another short experiment during Easter break."

"This is a very good thing though, isn't it? I imagine that there'll be many people interested in your results."

He allowed himself a small smile. "Yes." He fingered the velvet box in his pocket. The results might just open some doors that he thought had been closed for good. They just might.

"I'm just so happy for you." When he looked at her, there was something like – pride? – in her eyes. It made his heart lurch sideways a little. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had taken pride in his accomplishments. He could not even remember the last time there had been anyone to tell.

.-.-.-

When he returned to his rooms that evening after dinner, he poured himself a drink and sat down on the edge of his bed. He pulled the velvet box from the pocket of his robe, opened it, and set it on the nightstand.

Hope. Dreams. How could he explain to her how futile hope had been? How for the last few decades he had known that there was no future for him, that his future would forever be tangled in his past? That the things he had done made him unfit for anything other than what he had and was right now?

Carefully, he lifted the chain from where it lay nestled on the black velvet and dangled it in front of his eyes. The silver anchor gently swung back and forth, catching the gleam of the candlelight.

How could he explain that for the last few years, there had been no room for thinking of anything further down the road than how to survive the next summons, the next attack, the next day?  
She had been a child during the last war. And she had missed this one, spending the last ten years teaching in assorted Muggle schools on the continent, as she had told him. How could he expect her to understand?

He fastened the chain around his neck. For a moment, he could picture her face, anxiously awaiting his verdict on her gift. The memory brought the ghost of a smile to his face.

Like the gift, she had been unexpected, unlooked-for at this point in his life. It still surprised him every time he found himself outside her door yet again. Yet with each passing week it grew less awkward and more comfortable, this time he spent with her. And with every passing week something he had thought dead and buried long ago was slowly coming to life again…

His hand closed tightly around the pendant. For a moment, he sat lost in thought. Only then did he let the chain drop out of sight beneath the collar of his robe.

* * *

.

* * *

One Tuesday in early February he came up to her quarters again, but instead of being greeted with her usual smile as she opened the door, he heard an irritable "Come in". The first thing he noticed as he entered was the acrid smell of smoke in the air. Hannah was over in the kitchen corner, scraping things that resembled oddly-shaped charcoal patties off a baking sheet and into the rubbish bin. There was a thunderous expression on her face. 

She barely looked up when he entered. "If you are expecting scones, you'll have to go elsewhere today," she said in a clipped voice.

"Um – that's fine. Just tea will be fine."

She jerked her head towards the corner cabinet. "Well, you know where the bloody tea pot is. Help yourself." She was scraping viciously at the burned-on residue.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Maybe I should come back some other time."

"Swell idea. You do that," she bit out through clenched teeth.

"Fine."

He was half way to the door when he stopped and paused. Slowly letting out a deep breath, he turned around and walked back over to her. "This isn't like you."

"And you have suddenly become the expert on what is 'like me', have you?" With jerky movements, she kept scraping away at a particularly stubborn spot.

"You are reacting completely out of proportion. You must realize that. What is wrong?"

"_Nothing." _The pitch of her voice was rising.

He leaned over, took the spatula out of her hand and placed it on the counter. "Quite obviously, there is. Now would you stop acting like a hag and tell me what exactly the problem is?" he said sharply.

She wheeled around to face him. "What's the problem? You want to know what the _problem_ is?" Her eyes were spitting sparks. "Well, for starters, I slipped on the stairs this morning and sprained my wrist. Then I managed to upset my coffee cup over a stack of essays, which meant I had to tell _three_ of my students that they needed to rewrite part of their papers because the ink ran all over. What is it with the quill and ink obsession, anyways? I mean, what exactly is so terrible about ball point pens? Or pencils, heaven forbid? – Then Peeves, who has been leaving me alone up to now, decided to try again and got me completely drenched right before lunch. _Then_ I get an owl from my aunt that she is having problems with her pregnancy and might lose the baby. And as if that wasn't enough, this afternoon, two of the bordering-on-illiterate sixth years you sent to me for tutoring had the _gall_ to tell me that they thought such a stupid Muggle subject was, as they put it, a complete waste of their time, and they were only coming because you would have their hide otherwise. And that I shouldn't expect too much. In short, it's been a no-good, terrible, utterly lousy day, and then _I BURNED THE DAMN SCONES_. And scraping them off made my wrist hurt again. And now you can take a hike and leave me to my ridiculous, unreasonable, hag-like self." Angry, lips quivering, she turned and reached out for the spatula again.

Severus leaned over and took her wrists in his hands.

"Which one?"

She nodded towards the right one, not looking at him. There was a slight amount of swelling, and a bruise was starting to darken.

He ran a finger over the bruised skin. "Did you see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No. It's just a stupid sprain. It'll be fine in a day or two." She jerked her hand away from him and turned away.

He straightened up, anger on his face. "Were Herrick and Langley the two in question? I have had my eye on them for a while. I assure you, Hannah, that they _will_ learn respect…" He paced a few steps. "As far as Peeves is concerned, I can and will make him understand that he needs to leave you alone… Maybe the Bloody Baron…Yes, that should work…" He nodded to himself. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have supplies in my office for a poultice that will help with the pain in your wrist, and …"

He was interrupted by a small choking sound. When he looked up, he saw her caught between laughing and crying, tears running down her face.

"Severus, I _don't_ need you to fix everything, really."

He looked at her in confusion. "Then what_ do_ you want me to do?"

"I don't want you to _do_ anything." She held her hands out in front of her in a gesture of helplessness. "I just want..." And with that she took a step towards him, wrapped her arms around his waist, put her head against his chest, and proceeded to cry unreservedly into his robe.

He stood perfectly still for a moment. Then, he slowly put his arms around her. He could feel her shoulders shaking. _There were things you were supposed to do…_From somewhere, dimly, there came memories of being comforted as a very small child. _Breathe in, breathe out_. Awkwardly, he raised one hand and started smoothing her hair, his other arm still wrapped tightly around her back. "Shhhh…" It seemed the right thing to do, because after a minute or two, he could feel her relax against him. _Strange, how his chest could feel so hollow and so full at the same time..._ After a while, the crying stopped, but she didn't let go, her arms still wrapped around him, and her face buried in the folds of his robe. He tightened his hold on her, just ever so slightly, as his other hand cupped the back of her head, his thumb still stroking her hair.

When she finally straightened up, she pulled a large handkerchief out of her pocket, turned away, and blew her nose. "Oh Merlin, that was embarrassing," she muttered. She looked back over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Really, I am. I can't even imagine what you must think… and I must look a fright…"

Her eyes and nose were puffy and red, her face blotchy.

"Actually, yes, you do," he said with a smirk, as he pulled out _his_ handkerchief and proceeded to dab at the wet front of his robe.

Her eyebrows drew together, her eyes started blazing – and then just as quickly, the corners of her mouth started twitching. "Well, you_ are_ honest, I'll grant you that," she said with a weak grin.

"You are better, then?"

She nodded. "Much. Thank you."

"I am still going to get something for your wrist."

"I'll have tea ready when you come back."

He turned to leave.

"Severus…"

He looked back at her with arched eyebrows.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

Color was rising in her cheeks. "For turning around. For letting me be ridiculous."

He shrugged his shoulders, a closed look on his face.  
"I did nothing. Now, if you will excuse me?"

She looked on with soft eyes as the door closed behind him. "Did nothing? That's what you think. Personally, I beg to differ." And wondered with a smile if he had noticed that for the first time since she had known him, he had actually called her by her name.

* * *

A/N: Filius is Latin for 'son', Filia means 'daughter'. Someone who would name their son "son" would probably not hesitate to name their daughter "daughter". ;-) 

As far as the birthday party, I think some people just cannot be bothered to figure out that not everyone likes the same things. Like the friend who keeps giving you country clutter type gifts because _she_ likes country clutter (even though you have sari fabric for curtains, LOL). Dumbledore threw Severus a party_ he_ would have really enjoyed! ;-)

Thank you to the many of you who reviewed on the last chapter – I had a silly grin on my face all week! You guys are wonderful!


	27. The Turret

"…and could you please read to me the sixth line of the instructions." Snape pointed to the blackboard with exaggerated politeness.

"Th-then add one teaspoon of ground c-calendula petals and s-s-stir for five minutes while simmering over low heat," the trembling first year stammered, red blotches on his cheeks.

"And could you explain to me, Mister Callaghan, where exactly you went wrong?"

"I—I didn't stir it long enough?" the student whispered.

"Correct. And what _else_ did you do to muck up one of the simplest potions imaginable?"

"I let it come to a b-boil?"

"Correct again. And what, Mister Callaghan, happens when you don't stir long enough and let a potion that should gently simmer come to a full boil?"

The boy looked miserably down at the work table in front of him, covered in slimy brown potion residue.

"It sort of explodes, sir?" he offered tentatively.

"Yes, Mister Callaghan, indeed." Snape's voice was silky-smooth and soft. "It, as you so eloquently put it, sort of explodes. Five points from Gryffindor," he raised his voice over the disapproving murmurs in the classroom, "and be thankful it isn't more. And you, Callaghan, will hand in twelve inches of parchment on what is a simmer, what is a boil, and how to tell the difference. By tomorrow. Class dismissed."

He sat down at desk, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose while Matthew Callaghan attempted to clean up the mess he had created.

Snape sighed inwardly. If Neville Longbottom were not alive and well and apprenticed to an herbologist in Gloucester, he could have sworn that Callaghan was a reincarnation of that particular bane of his existence. And he had at least four more years of melted cauldrons, solidified potions, and wasted ingredients to look forward to before Callaghan would fail his O.W.L. Oh joy.

"Never mind that," he said sharply to the boy. "Just remove yourself from this room before I regret only having taken five points."

"Y-yes, sir," Callaghan stuttered while clumsily trying to reassemble his Potions kit as quickly as possible.

When the boy had finally scrambled out the door, Snape sat for just a moment longer, massaging his temple. He had a pounding headache, and the day wasn't over yet. With a tired sigh, he got up, made the insufferable boy's mess disappear with a wave of his wand, and went into his private study. He measured out a dram of pain potion and swallowed it with a grimace, feeling the pressure behind his eyes ease almost immediately.

Walking over to the small wall cabinet, he unlocked it and took out a goblet and the crystal decanter. Smoke wafted in dark tendrils as he poured out the Wolfsbane. Time for another visit to Lupin's office. Just what he needed to top off a wonderful day.

.-.-.-

When he approached the Defense office, he could hear laughter and animated voices through the door from several yards away. _Well, well._ It seemed as if someone at least was having a much better day than he. Snape loudly knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response.

"I brought your potion, Lupin."

Two heads shot up as they heard him enter. Lupin and Hannah sat on opposite sides of the desk, a pile of parchment rolls between them. The werewolf looked up warily at his visitor, but Hannah's smile widened as she looked into the Potions master's eyes.

"Hello, Severus."

He nodded in her direction. "May I ask what _you _are doing here?" He sat the goblet down on the desk harder than was necessary.

"Defense is my guinea pig essay of the week." She gestured to the scrolls. "We were marking the third years' work. Can you guess that the grammar topic of the week was 'All About Appositives'?" She picked up a scroll, unrolled it, and began to read. "'The Grindylow, a magical beast, lives throughout Scotland and Ireland, part of the British Isles, in lakes, large bodies of fresh water, including the lake at Hogwarts, a magical school.'"

Lupin groaned and reached for the scroll. "Oh, good heavens. Let me see that."

"You two seem to be entertaining yourselves quite well. How very nice." The Potions master impatiently pushed the goblet towards the werewolf.

Hannah smiled up at him. "We were swapping stories. One of the students got me with the old Disappearing Ink trick today – I _can't_ believe I fell for that! Remus was telling me about some of the pranks he and his friends thought up when they were in school," she said with a grin. "And I just got done telling him it seems like a miracle that they were not expelled."

The grin faded off her face as she saw Snape's face harden into a stony mask. She looked uncertainly from one man to the other as her words seemed to hang in the room

"Certain people seem to get away with just about anything, don't they?" Snape said softly, looking at the Defense master.

Lupin's face stayed calm. "I only told her about some of the tricks we _all_ played on the teachers. Nothing more."

"Oh, you shouldn't stop there. You have so many highly amusing stories to tell, don't you, Lupin?"

"Severus, I don't really …" Remus rose from his seat.

"Oh, but you should have," Snape interrupted him. "Just think, all those nights you used to roam all over the countryside, a fully transformed werewolf, and all that stood between you and disaster were three unregistered teenage animagi. There have to be some delightful anecdotes from those days, I would think. - But I forgot, you can't remember much about those times, can you? Pity."

Not a muscle in Remus' face moved, but Hannah could see the knuckles on his clenched fists turn white. "You know that I'm not proud of what we did," he said in a well-modulated voice. "But really…"

"And how about those friends of yours? Did you tell her about them? He doesn't have the best track record, you know," Severus said with a sneer, turning his face towards Hannah without taking his eyes off the werewolf. "All of his friends seem to turn up either dead or as mass murderers. And sometimes both. "

"That's enough." Hannah said sharply.

For a moment, there was no other sound than a few hard breaths. Then Snape bowed to her. "As you wish. You will see to it that Lupin takes his potion, then. It wouldn't do at all if he forgot again, now, would it?"

As the Potions master pivoted on his heels and stormed out the door, Hannah called after him – "Severus, wait…" – but he disappeared without giving a hint he had even heard her. She looked after him for a moment, lips pressed together tightly.

Taking a deep breath, she walked over to Remus. "Are you all right?"

Remus slowly unclenched his fists, and then ran a hand through his hair as he managed a somewhat forced smile. "I'm fine. I just wish…" He let the sentence trail off unfinished and looked down. "Never mind."

"I'm sorry, Remus."

He just shrugged and then picked up the goblet. "I'm just sorry you had to listen to that."

Hannah gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "I'll be back in a little while, all right?"

Remus swirled the dark liquid around in the goblet without looking at her. "There's no hurry. Take your time."

.-.-.-.

A few minutes later, Hannah was knocking on the door of the Potions office. When there was no answer, she went on to Snape's private quarters. The second time she knocked, the door opened a crack, and she looked up into the hard face of the Potions master.

"May I come in?" she asked quietly.

He opened his mouth to speak, but just then a noisy, raucous group of Slytherin students came around the corner. He closed his mouth and instead opened the door and pulled her inside before the students could notice her.

He let go of her arm as soon as the door closed.

"Why are you here?" he demanded. "To tell me that I behaved abominably, and that I owe our resident werewolf an apology?" His lip curled up in derision.

She shook her head. "No. You know _that _already," she answered calmly.

"Then what?"

"I was worried about you."

For a moment, the expression on his face wavered. "Worried about _me_?"

"Are you all right?"

"Shouldn't you be up in the Defense office commiserating with Lupin instead?" he countered with a sneer.

She took a step closer and laid a hand against his cheek. "Talk to me?"

Severus reaction was every bit as sudden as if she had slapped him. He jerked away from her touch, took a quick step back and stared at her disbelievingly, angrily. For a moment their eyes locked. With an effort, he turned away. "It's none of your concern. You couldn't understand."

"Try me."

"It's a long story."

"I have time." With arms crossed, she leaned back against the door.

Severus looked at her with narrowed eyes. It was obvious that short of him physically throwing her out the door, she wasn't going anywhere. Cold black eyes met determined brown ones. His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched.

Finally, some of the tension went out of his stance. She would hear at least some of the story sooner or later. She might as well hear it from him as from Lupin.

"Come with me," he said shortly. Having made the decision, he was already fastening his cloak around his throat.

"Where are we going?" she asked. He didn't answer.

.-.-.-.

By the time they had made it from the dungeons to the seventh floor Hannah was sure she had walked up a goodly percentage of Hogwarts' one hundred and forty-two staircases. Severus was striding along slightly ahead of her, forcing her to follow at a near run. When they finally reached the same small door they had been at the night of his birthday, she was panting and out of breath.

The roof was near dark, and Severus pulled out his wand. "_Lumos_."

With a sigh, Hannah followed him along the parapet. He stopped when they reached the turret. Raising his brightly lit wand tip, he examined the bricks. When he located one much lighter in color than the ones surrounding it, she watched as he tapped it three times.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "What is…?"

"Just wait." Walking over to the bricked-up doorway of the turret, he stretched out his hand. When he touched the barrier, it shivered like the surface of a pond, waves running outward in concentric circles until they lost themselves in the hard brickwork of the wall.

With a satisfied smile, he nodded, stepped forward – and was gone.

Hannah inhaled sharply, but didn't even have time to exclaim before his face and one hand appeared in the 'wall' again. "Are you coming?" He held out his hand towards her. With a deep breath, she took it and stepped forward.

For a moment, it felt like being drenched in ice water. Then, the utter coldness passed, and she found herself in a small, circular room. Severus must have lit the torches that were stuck in brackets along the wall, casting a flickering light over a room that obviously had been deserted many years ago.

A decrepit-looking armchair – which must have donated much of its stuffing to line mouse nests over the years, judging by the holes that riddled the upholstery – stood against the far side of the room. Next to it, there was a low table with uneven legs, a stack of dust-covered books teetering precariously on one edge.

The turret had looked windowless from the outside, but there was, in fact, a single, narrow window cut into the deep wall, overlooking the lake.

"Where are we?" Hannah looked questioningly at her companion.

"I spent many hours in here as a school boy." His eyes scanned the room with grim satisfaction. "And it appears no one else has found it since."

"How on earth did _you_ find it?" Hannah muttered, looking around the small chamber with curiosity.

He stepped up to the window and looked outside into the darkness.

_They had been after me again,_ he thought. _I had come up here to get away from them, and I was angry, and trying not to cry, and I hit my fists against the wall, and then… _"Coincidence," he said.

There must have been something in his voice…he could feel her move up behind him. "Tell me," she said softly.

"I told you that I was in the same year as Lupin…"

Behind him, she stood quietly, not talking, just there.

"Did I tell you Pettigrew also was in my year?"

"No. The one that wrecked your classroom? That hurt Remus?"

"One and the same. Lupin, Pettigrew, and two more – James Potter and Sirius Black. They were best friends."

He stopped again.

"Go on," she said quietly.

"Well, let's just say they didn't much care for me," he said in a dry voice. He paced a few steps. "I tried to make friends with Black at first. An old Pureblood family, steeped in the Dark Arts, just like mine – I thought maybe…but he was a Gryffindor through and through. Couldn't be bothered with a Slytherin. Instead, he soon fell in with the other three. They were inseparable."

He walked over to the table, picked up a book, and blew the dust off the cover. "Arrogant prats, perfectly happy in their little mutual admiration society. Couldn't deal with the fact that I didn't think they deserved a standing ovation simply for getting out of bed in the morning. It started with insults, progressed to hexes, and ended in something akin to all out war." He put the book back down, sending a cloud of dust billowing up from the table.

"I needed a place to be alone sometimes, to get away. And I always thought the castle knew that, and that is why it gave me this place." Laughing harshly, he turned around to her. "Idiotic, isn't it?"

"Not at all. Sometimes, it feels like this castle is a living thing, doesn't it?" She stretched out a hand, and carefully ran it along the wall. "So they made your life miserable."

"Black decided that he was offended by my mere existence. Potter was no better. And their idea of a fair fight consisted of two or three against one. Black and Potter, and sometimes Pettigrew…"

"And Remus?" Her voice was hard.

Severus shook his head. "No. He would just make himself scarce. The precious Prefect, letting his friends get away with anything they came up with. And they came up with all sorts of wonderful ideas. One of them almost killed me." His voice sounded raw as he stepped up to the window again.

Soft footsteps came up behind him, and he could feel her hand on his shoulder. He irritably shrugged it off.

"Black told me how to get past the Whomping Willow one day. There's a door near the roots. Cleverest idea he'd had in a while, I'd wager. Good laugh, he must have had. What he neglected to point out was that I would find Lupin transformed into a werewolf at the other end of the passage. Dumbledore had very conveniently kept his 'condition' a secret. If Potter hadn't gotten cold feet, I probably wouldn't be here. Just one fun prank of many. They hounded me, humiliated me, and the bigger the audience, the better. They made me the laughingstock of the castle so many times I lost count. So there you have the short version."

He turned around, his face angry.

"And as I am sure you will in the interest of fairness enquire of Lupin as to the other side of the story, before you ask, yes, I gave as good as I got, and even though I probably spent more time in the hospital wing than they did, I sent them there often enough. Satisfied?"

She looked at him, her eyes soft in the flickering torchlight. "Severus, how would anything you did make what _they_ did to _you_ any less wrong?"

"There were many that said I asked for it. That I deserved what I got. Schoolboy antics, just tit for tat." His voice was brittle like spun glass.

She reached up a hand and put it against his cheek. This time, he didn't pull away. "I don't care about the other side of the story, Severus. I'm not the Grand Inquisitor. I'm your friend."

Her thumb gently ran over his cheekbone. He drew breath painfully at the touch.

For a moment they just stood quietly, eyes locked.

He stood there, wondering why it was that hearing those words had caused his throat to close up, with an aching, burning tightness that made it hard to even swallow. He could not have gotten a word out at the moment if his life depended on it.

She stood there, wondering how much hurt and humiliation and anger lay behind the scant outline he had sketched with his words, for the pain to still be this acute so many years later. And wondering if there had ever been a time that he had been happy, and what, if anything, she could do to make that awful look in his eyes disappear.

Tentatively, she slid her hand back further, through his hair, to the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. As her other arm encircled his back, she drew his head down towards her. At first, he stood rigidly, head bent, barely submitting to the embrace.

"I have wanted to do this for so long…" she said softly, her fingers tracing small circles against the back of his neck. She could feel his muscles relax beneath her hands, the tension leave his shoulders, ebbing away ever so slowly. Finally, with a soft, fluid exhalation she felt warm against her throat, he surrendered control. His arms wrapped around her as he leaned into her, burying his face against the hollow of her neck.

"That's better," she whispered as she slowly, gently stroked his hair, his neck, his shoulders; her other arm hugging him to herself as tightly as she dared. She closed her eyes, content to just hold him, to listen as his ragged breaths grew softer and slower.

She held him for what seemed like a small eternity, determined to let him decide when to break the embrace.

When he finally straightened up, he didn't let go of her. She looked up at him, still encircled in his arms.

His eyes were unreadable. "So what do we do now?" he asked, his voice soft and hoarse.

Tears sprang up in her eyes. "I don't know," she whispered.

* * *

A/N: 

Beta-read by lalaluu; all remaining mistakes are mine!


	28. Flu

A/N: In PoA, Trelawney predicts that "classes will be interrupted by a nasty bout of the flu, and I myself will lose my voice." From that I deduced that even the wizarding world still doesn't have a cure for flu, since I assume that her prediction would have to be at least possible, if not accurate. :-)

* * *

The week before Valentine's Day, Albus Dumbledore pondered the intricacies of reverse psychology. 

Three months of no further incidents had prompted the reinstatement of Hogsmeade privileges, an occasion of great joy for the students. There were a few rules – stay in Hogsmeade proper, no wandering into the surrounding countryside, and stay in groups of at least three – but the students were thrilled to be able to leave the castle at last. Well-chaperoned, of course.

_You are getting old, Albus, _he thought with a sigh as he stirred his hot chocolate. _You are losing your touch._

What he _should_ have done was to _order_ Severus Snape to go and supervise a bunch of lovey-dovey teenagers in cupid-infested tea shops, and then simply wait for him to hurriedly beg off and cite something of urgent concern brewing in the dungeons. But no, he instead had told him that he was to remain in the castle for safety reasons, which of course had done nothing but get his hackles up and make him bound and determined to go. His remarks on the subject had been quite pointed.

But as it turned out, the whole thing was a moot point anyways.

.-.-.-

At dinner Friday night, Severus had coughed more than once. When he later that evening sneezed violently into his tea cup, Hannah looked up at him with concern.

"Are you catching cold?" she asked. "There's Pepperup in the bathroom cabinet if you need some."

"I don't get sick," Severus answered dismissively.

Hannah just eyed him dubiously, but, "If you say so," was all she said.

.-.-.

The next morning, McGonagall cornered Hannah as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Are you going into Hogsmeade this morning?"

"I wasn't planning on it. Do you need me to?"

"Not particularly. I think we have enough chaperones at the moment. I just wanted to make sure we don't leave the first and second years unsupervised while everyone goes off to town. I'll put you down for hall duty from eight until lunch, if that is satisfactory?"

"Of course."

Minerva scratched out a name on the duty roster she was carrying. "Rolanda was supposed to take that slot, but she is taking Severus' spot as a chaperone…"

"He was supposed to go? Is he all right? He seemed a bit off yesterday."

"Flu," McGonagall answered laconically. "And if you know what's good for you, you will stay away until he feels better."

.-.-.

At lunch, he still was a no-show. Ignoring the older witch's advice, Hannah rapped on the door of his quarters a couple of hours later. "Who the blazes is it now?" she heard his muffled voice from the other side.

"It's Hannah," she called out. "May I come in?"

She heard a soft click as the lock disengaged. She pushed the door open and stuck her head in. "Did I pick a bad time?"

He was leaning back in an armchair in front of the cold fireplace, a blanket over his legs. His rather red nose stuck out of the greasy hair falling over his face, and she could barely make out red-rimmed, blood-shot eyes peering out malevolently from behind the black curtain. An open book rested on his lap.

"The bloody house-elves have been making a bloody nuisance out of themselves. '_Master Snape need this, Master Snape need that'_…I promised them the next one to come in would regret it for the rest of his miserable life," he muttered hoarsely.

Hannah raised one eyebrow and tried not to grin. Not feeling well certainly seemed to do nothing for his manners.

"I brought you something."

"Don't just stand there, then."

Hannah closed the door behind her. "I missed you at lunch. Minerva told me earlier you weren't feeling well." She placed a covered bowl on the low table next to him. "Chicken soup. Muggles swear by it when they get the flu. It's hot now, or you can heat it up later when you get hungry."

He blew his nose into a large handkerchief and muttered something under his breath. Hannah was fairly sure it was actually a good thing that other than "bloody Muggles" she couldn't understand a word of it.

"So how are you?" She crouched down next to his chair and put her hand over his.

He just glared in response.

"You look terrible. Shouldn't you be in bed?" When she raised her hand to feel his forehead, he batted it away in irritation.

"If you are going to start in on me like the blasted house-elves, you can just…" He was interrupted by a sneeze. After wiping his nose, he shot her a sour glance. "So if that was all you wanted…?"

"Well, tell me what _you_ want. Personally, I like to be left alone when I'm sick, so if you want me to sod off, just say so, and I will completely understand, and no hard feelings. On the other hand, if you would like some company, I could stay for a while – maybe read you your book while you eat your soup? Your eyes look tired." She reached up and gently tucked some strands of hair back behind his ear.

"I haven't been read to since I was a child," he said contemptuously.

"Well, I rather like being read to," she said with a shrug. "But suit yourself. Do you want the soup?"

"I believe I could eat," he allowed.

She moved the book off his lap and handed him the bowl and a spoon. "Here you go."

While he slowly started spooning the soup into his mouth, she moved the other chair closer to him and perused the cover of the book – '_Patenting Potions: A Primer'. _She grinned wryly – exciting stuff, that.

"So, do you want me to read or not?"

"Might as well. Nothing better to do," he grumbled.

Turning the book over, she started reading at the top of the page. "Initial testing should be done on magical beasts with complementary …"

"I am quite past that, all the way to the second-to-last paragraph," he interrupted her irritably.

"Okay, then…" Her finger ran down the page until she had located the indicated passage. "…As not all magical beasts may legally be used for research, please contact the Beast Division for the latest revised version of Appendix XII b of the Beasts and Beings Act of 1811.

"Only if the results of those early tests demonstrate reasonable safety can the potion then be tested on human subjects or the magical beings that are the intended end users. The approval process for new medical or experimental potions will typically run the course of four phases. The first phase involves low doses of the experimental potion given to at least a dozen volunteers in small, diluted amounts. That is to exclude broad safety issues that do not necessarily show up in beast trials due to the different physiology…"

As she read, he finished the bowl of soup and placed it on the table next to him. He leaned his head against the wing back of the chair and closed his eyes. "Keep reading," he commanded.

Mouth twitching, Hannah obliged. "…Phase two involves testing with numerous volunteers who actually have the condition or illness to a) determine the most appropriate dosage and dosing regimen, and b) compare effectiveness against other potions available to combat the same condition. Ideally, there should be a double-blind study against a group that receives a placebo, but due to ethical considerations…."

By the time she got to phase four – "…post-marketing study to track effects not necessarily observable in smaller groups…" – his head had sagged back, his mouth was half open, and gentle snoring sounds accompanied each exhalation.

The Potions master was sound asleep.

Not that she could blame him, Hannah thought with a smirk. Another five minutes, and the book would have put _her_ to sleep.

She put the tome down carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. For a while she sat there, just looking at him. He must be exhausted. The dark rings under his eyes gave evidence that he had not slept very well the night before. Out of nowhere, a wave of tenderness washed over her that just about took her breath away. His face slack with sleep, he just looked so tired, so defenseless, so – dear. Her mouth twitched again. Good thing he couldn't hear her thoughts. She would not have liked to deal with the repercussions.

After a few minutes she got up and tiptoed over to the desk. Casting a quick look back at him, she picked up his quill and a spare piece of parchment.

_I thought I would just let you sleep, and so I let myself out. I'll be back later to check on you. Get well soon, _

_Hannah._

She left the note on the table next to him and snuck over to the door, thankful that the wards only prevented someone from coming in, not from going out - or she would have been good and stuck.

After closing the door as noiselessly as possible behind her, she made her way up to her own rooms. She kicked off her shoes, dropped down on the bed, and closed her eyes for a few minutes. Then, with a sigh, she rolled over on her side and picked up her diary from the nightstand. Leafing through the book, she read through her past entries.

His name was on just about every page. Severus on the beach, Severus walking away. Severus furious at her as they met again. Amazement at his skill, anger at his refusal to listen. Attempt after attempt to get him to trust her. Finally arriving at something like friendship. And then…

The last entry detailed the evening he had shown her his hideaway. Strange things happened to her heart every time she thought about that night. Since neither she nor he had known the answer to the question he had asked – _What now?_ – they had left soon thereafter; she back to her marking, he back to his dungeon. The next few days, they had been careful with each other, trying to regain a comfortable distance. Until felled by the flu bug, Severus had been entirely too polite, and she had tried her darnedest to act like nothing had happened. Yet a line had been crossed. The question mark was hanging between them, refusing to be ignored. She closed her eyes, and allowed herself to remember the feeling of holding him, of looking up into his eyes, so dark, so familiar. _I don't want to let go_, she thought. _I want to hold on a bit longer._ But it wouldn't be fair.

She closed the book with a tired sigh.

It was time, then.

_.-.-.-._

On Tuesday, Old Man Winter decided to mount one last attack before spring would put an end to his reign. He threw everything he had at the castle – the kind of blizzard where the snow is driven with such fury that it whips along horizontally, obscuring everything more than five feet away behind a swirling grey curtain. Ice flowers grew on the windowpanes in fantasy patterns, and the wooden frames creaked and crackled with the onslaught of the wind as if inhabited by ghosts. In their towers, the students of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw awoke to the howling wind that continued unabated all day, and gratefully gathered in front of the fireplaces in the evening, cozy and warm.

Down in the dungeons, safely tucked away from the elements, life went on as always.

Snape dragged himself to class in the morning, after for once missing a day on Monday. Since that had been the actual date of Valentine's Day, he told himself that if he _had_ to miss a day, it at least was one he had often _wished_ to miss in the past. It's an ill wind that blows no good whatsoever, he thought with some small amount of satisfaction.

"How are you?" Hannah asked when she arrived at his office at six o'clock sharp that evening. "You still look a bit under the weather." It was his week for the essay marking session, and he had stubbornly refused to postpone. Too much time wasted already.

"Much improved," he said with a note of finality that told her he considered that topic closed. "So, with what did you torture your students this week?"

She dumped the scrolls on the desk with a resounding thud. Since he had still been ill the day before, the students had turned in their essays to her for a change. "Adjectives. Fascinating, hm?" she asked with a smirk.

He just harrumphed and started applying himself to the pile in front of him.

A few minutes later, Hannah lifted her head and grinned. "Can you handle another 'if one is good, ten must be better' quote from a student? Or should I just shut up?"

"Go ahead, if you must," he grumbled without looking up.

"All right, here we go then." She theatrically cleared her throat. "'The humble yellow dandelion is thought by ignorant, uneducated people to be nothing but a bothersome, obnoxious, useless weed, yet the long, brown, shapely root, the dark-green, jagged leaves, the buttery, many-petaled blossoms, and the downy, gossamer seed heads provide us with invaluable, important, irreplaceable potion ingredients.'-- I think my next topic should be 'Verbosity: Not a Good Thing'," she said with another giggle.

He just shook his head in exasperation while liberally applying red ink to Matthew Callaghan's essay. She was, as he had said before, much too easily amused.

As they worked through their essays, her remarks became fewer and longer between, and then they stopped altogether. He looked up at her once or twice, but she kept her head bent over the scrolls. This was unusual – he was not used to her being this quiet. She wasn't getting sick, was she? She had come to visit more than once over the last couple of days…

Well, if she caught flu, it would be entirely her own fault. He certainly had never asked her to come.

She finished before him – she must have gotten a head start before coming down – and when he looked up, he caught her watching him, a tightness to her features that he did not like. His brow furrowed when he saw the apprehensive look on her face. "What is it?" he demanded. She got up and walked a few steps back and forth before turning to face him.

"Severus, there is something I have been meaning to talk to you about…"

He put down his quill. "Yes?"

She kneaded one hand with the other. "This isn't easy."

He didn't say anything, but shifted his body in the chair so he was facing her.

Resuming her pacing, she smiled a tight smile. "My family is pureblood, too. Did you know that?"

He inclined his head. "I am aware of that, yes."

"Well, anyways, my father…" She paused again. "Well, I…damn." She closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face.

The light thump coming from the door fell like a pebble into the sudden silence.

"Shh." He turned his head to the side to listen.

In the quiet, they could hear a faint scratching against the office door. Severus got up, pulled out his wand and moved in front of Hannah. "Stay back," he ordered in a low hiss. Every muscle tense, he opened the door a crack. A few seconds later, he lowered his wand.

"It's an owl," he said with astonishment.

Hannah, letting out a breath, came over, and stood beside him as he opened the door. The poor bird was drenched, frozen and half dead. She bent over and picked the pitiful creature up.

"You didn't just fly in through that blizzard, did you, you poor little thing?" she asked in concern. "Severus, do you have some sort of towel around?"

He walked into the adjacent classroom and came back with some rough work towels. "Will these do?"

She nodded, took the towels, and handed him the rolled-up scroll that had been attached to the owl's leg. "It's for you. Must have a water-repelling charm on it or something."

"You are very brave," she told the bird as she toweled it off in front of the fire. "Not every owl would have made it through that." When the owl peered up at the Potions master, obviously disappointed to be completely ignored by the recipient of its message, Hannah passed the bird a piece of biscuit from her bag and caressed its head. "He's a bit distracted right now. Don't hold it against him," she whispered.

She looked up at Severus apprehensively as he broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. His jaws clenched as he read, and his face grew a shade paler.

"What is it?" She got up and walked over next to him.

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and handed her the message. It was short and written in a rounded, feminine hand.

_Dear Severus, _

_Your father has been taken quite ill. I don't know what to do. Please come as soon as you can. I need you here. _

_Hurry, please. _

_Mother_

While she was reading, Severus had picked up his cloak and was fastening it around his throat.

"I'm so sorry to hear that." She walked over to him, the owl now forgotten, and laid a hand on his arm. "It must be serious?"

"Yes. She would not have owled me if it wasn't."

"Wouldn't a firecall have been easier?"

"My father disconnected our house from the Floo network many years ago," he answered shortly. "But you will have to excuse me now."

"Severus, there is a blizzard out there. You can't go out in that; you're not even quite well again."

"I don't see any other option."

She thought for a minute. "Do you know how to make a Portkey? To take you there and back?"

"I do. But I am sure _you_ know all about Portkey regulations."

"No one would know," she said. "Hogwarts is so charged with magic that I am sure they couldn't detect anything."

Severus looked at her calculatingly. She had a point. After all, no one had detected the Portkey that had whisked the Potter boy away in his fourth year. He could do all the configuring here, and no one would notice. And he didn't relish the thought of going out into the howling storm.

Hannah stuffed the note in her bag as she dug down deep among the clutter in the bottom of her purse for a suitable item. "Here, use this." She held out a tin of mints.

As Severus reached out to take it, she grasped his hand, caution forgotten.

"Take me with you," she said impulsively, as she locked eyes with him.

Severus considered for a moment. The idea of being alone with his parents didn't have much appeal. Yet neither did the thought of showing her his ancestral home. Even so, the presence of a stranger might be just what was needed to defuse the situation – he was quite sure that even though his mother wanted him there, his father would be less than pleased. As concerned as Augustus Snape had been with making the right impression all his life, he would be much more likely to stay in control if someone other than the son he hated was present, especially once he figured out that that someone was the daughter of the head of Magical Law Enforcement. After just a moment's deliberation, he made up his mind.

"You may come, if you wish."

The tin briefly glowed blue as he muttered first one incantation, then another. Hannahgrasped her bag and put on her cloak.

"Ready?" he said. "On the count of three…"

On three, both of them touched the Portkey. One moment, there was the dizzying, navel-twisting sensation of transport; the next, they were standing in front of the dilapidated mansion.

Hannah stuck the tin back into her bag. "_This_ is your home?" she asked, looking incredulously at the forbidding building looming up before her in the darkness. She didn't get an answer as Severus walked up to the house and knocked. The door opened almost immediately.

"Oh Severus, I'm so glad you are here." The small, grey woman at the door was crying.

"Come with me. He is in the upstairs bedroom."

"Mother, I brought a friend…"

The woman looked confused, but then motioned Hannah in. "Come in, come in. We'll do introductions later…he is in a bad way…"

Severus mounted the stairs two steps at a time, and opened the door to a spacious bedroom. A still figure lay motionless on the large four-poster in the middle of the room.

"Father?" Severus said tentatively, and stepped up to the bed.

He never saw the curse coming. A white beam of light hit him from the back, and he froze in place, arrested in mid-motion. Before Hannah even had a chance to react, she could feel his mother's wand tip pressing against her neck. "If you move, I can promise you will never move again," the witch said almost pleasantly.

From behind the bedroom door, a short, balding figure stepped out, rubbing one flesh and one silver hand together in delight. There was a pleased, beaming smile on his face.

"Well, hello, Severus, old friend. Long time no see."

* * *

A/N: 

My longest chapter so far! (And resist the temptation to throw things at me, pretty please ? ;-)

A hearty thank-you to lalaluu for beta-reading and your great suggestions, and to Verity Brown for all your input on this chapter. You guys are awesome!

Many thanks to all who reviewed – I get a warm and fuzzy feeling every time there is a review notification in my inbox!


	29. Caught

Time for the standard disclaimer – everything you recognize belongs to JKR, and no lucre is involved on my part.

* * *

"Welcome to your humble abode," he said mockingly as he walked around Snape's motionless body. "But first things first." He felt up the Potion master's sleeves and deftly removed his wand. Then he walked over to Hannah and gave a mocking bow. "Yours please, M'lady?" 

Hannah just looked at him, eyes filled with hate.

"Not going to cooperate, are you? Tsk, tsk, we can't have _that_."

He walked over and ran his hands over her arms, shoulders, and body. He seemed to take a lot longer than was necessary. Eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, Hannah submitted to his exploration. It wasn't as if she had much of a choice here. She could still feel the wand tip against her neck.

Not meeting with success, Pettigrew wrenched her bag out of her grip. "Let's try in here then, shall we? My word -- do you carry all your possessions with you at all times? How do you expect to find _anything_ in here?" He had opened the purse and with eyebrows drawn together looked down at the jumble of books, knitting, biscuit tin, and assorted other flotsam and jetsam. "I don't have time for this."

With an exasperated expression, he simply turned the bag upside down and unceremoniously dumped the entire content out on the floor. "Well, why couldn't you have just said so in the first place," he grumbled as he picked the wand out from among the pile of her personal belongings and pocketed it. "_Now_ we can get on with business."

He grinned. "May I introduce myself? Peter Pettigrew, at your service. And I have the quite unexpected pleasure of talking to…?"

In response, her mouth closed in an even tighter line.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Playing hard to get, are you? Oh, I will get you talking, you can bet on that. – But first, should we reanimate our dear Severus here? We wouldn't want him to miss all the fun. A minor precaution, though…" He walked over, and within seconds, Severus' hands were tied together behind his back. "There, that will do nicely – _Finite Incantatem."_

The Potions master turned around slowly until he faced his adversary. Peter, grinning cheerfully, twirled Snape's wand around the fingers of one hand, still keeping his own wand firmly leveled at the bound man.

"_Pettigrew."_ Snape's voice sounded like liquid hate. "How very much like you. You never were one to fight fair, were you?"

"Severus – or should I call you _Snivellus_? I did so like calling you that! – it seems to me you might want to watch what you say. Seeing as all the cards seem to be in my favor, don't you agree?"

"What do you want?"

Peter shook his head regretfully. "Haven't you been paying attention? I have told you often enough over the last few months, haven't I? Didn't you get my notes? The one I sent by way of dear Remus should have been clear enough, _traitor._"

The lines on Severus' face deepened as his expression grew harder. "I repeat, Pettigrew, what do you want?"

"You, of course. My, aren't we being obtuse."

"So do what you have to. But let her go." He pointed towards Hannah with his chin. "She has no business in all this."

"But you see, that she is here at all indicates that she is _your_ business. And that makes her _my_ business." He looked towards Severus' mother. "Saeran, did he say anything to you when they arrived?"

"He said, 'I brought a friend'," she answered respectfully.

"A friend, hm? I didn't know you had any of those, Snivellus. Well, there is a first time for everything. How very nice for you…"

He whirled around, then. Beady eyes, staring. A wand, pointing. "_Crucio_." And then there was nothing but the pain, white-hot, exploding, every synapse miss-firing. Hannah fell to the ground as muscles seized and spasmed. The pain continued, expanding, rising, uncontainable, every fiber of her being screaming for it to end.

Then, for just a moment, release, relief, as Pettigrew had to turn his wand towards Severus, who had lunged forward, heedless of his unarmed state. A word, a beam of light, a thud, a body hitting the ground. And then, the return of the pain. An endless minute, then two. There came a moment when Hannah wondered, almost disconnectedly, who the woman was who was screaming, before the fire engulfed her again. Agony. It seemed to have existed forever, timeless, exquisite. And then just as sudden, it was gone again, leaving her panting and moaning on the ground. It took a few seconds for the ringing in her ears to clear enough to hear voices talking.

"…just like you, Pettigrew. Always was your game, was it not? Picking on those who are weaker than you. Didn't have the guts to take on anyone who could defend himself. Pitiful excuse for a wizard, you are." Severus had risen on his knees. His face was a sneering mask as his words rained derision. "You think _Voldemort _would have kept you around once you had outgrown your usefulness? He knew better, Wormtail, than to do that. You would have been sent back to the rat hole you came from. If he let you live, that is. Which I doubt."

Pettigrew had turned from Hannah towards Severus. "You shouldn't speak the Dark Lord's name like that. You shouldn't speak like that at all." He paced back and forth agitatedly.

"Why not, _Rat_? He is dead. Gone. And he isn't coming back. Might as well face it, Wormtail."

_No,_ Hannah thought wildly, shaking and shivering on the floor. _Don't do that. Don't. I know exactly what you are doing._

.-.-.-.

Severus didn't dare look at her. He needed to keep Pettigrew's attention, keep it away from Hannah. Her screams were still ringing through his head. "Well, Pettigrew? Cat got your tongue?"

The balding, paunchy wizard was struggling to keep composure. "You just wait, Severus. Just wait. Do you know what I have planned for you?" He smiled a shivery, demented smile. "I'm going to have some fun with you first. And then I am going to alert the Aurors. Or more precisely, I will have your mother call the Ministry and have you arrested. Another trial, Severus, because you enjoy those so much. And then, it will be the Dementors for you. Your soul sucked out, worse than dead…You have no idea how much I am looking forward to that."

"And what exactly are you going to have me arrested for, _Wormtail_? For being smarter than you? For leaving a sinking ship? Isn't that what the average_ rat_ would have done, Wormtail? But I forget, you weren't ever the one with the brains, were you?"

"_Crucio_!" Severus doubled over as the curse hit him, convulsively clenching his teeth against the wave of pain, determined not to give the Rat the satisfaction of the response he was hoping for. Within seconds, he was covered in sweat, shaking, dimly aware of Hannah crying out off to the side.

Finally, Pettigrew lifted the curse. After a few hard breaths, the Potions master looked up at him with a disdainful sneer. "Is that the best you can come up with, Wormtail? Let me tell you, it doesn't compare to what Voldemort could do. You were never the brightest of students, were you?"

"You just keep talking, Snape. You'll change your tune soon enough." Pettigrew said in a quivering voice. "But you were asking me what you would get arrested for. Weren't you wondering about your father? Does he look well to you?"

Almost against his will, Severus turned towards the bed and looked at the still form on it. Augustus Snape was lying on his left side, facing the two wizards. No, he did not look well. His face was paler than usual and contorted with fear. _Some sort of binding spell,_ Severus thought. _It's holding him in place._ _A silencing spell, too, I would guess. And he knows something I don't. _

"You see, Severus. Your father knows. He knows what will happen. _Imperio_!"

The curse intruded into his mind like a dart, quickly, incisively - and just as quickly, Severus had built up layer upon layer of protection around the intrusion. Trained to shut out invasion of his mind, one result of being a skillful Occlumens was the ability to resist the Imperius curse much easier. But Pettigrew didn't know that.

Snape, still on his knees, allowed himself to relax, to bow submissively. Pettigrew straightened up and let out a breath. "There now, isn't that better? Saeran, go and untie his hands."

The grey-haired witch immediately loosened the rope that tied her son's hands. Soon, the bonds fell to the floor, unheeded. Saeran quickly stepped back to where she had been, next to Hannah.

Severus was thinking furiously. He was too far away from Pettigrew to get close enough to snatch back his wand before being Stupefied - or worse. Better to play along, and wait for an opportunity, any opportunity. He tried to get up, testing his legs, finding that they would hold. Slowly, he rose, head bowed, as if waiting for a command.

With an irritated jab of his wand, Pettigrew pointed towards the ornate desk along the opposite wall. "Go over there."

Like an automaton, Snape followed orders.

"Open the top drawer. Take out the knife."

Severus slowly pulled at the knob – inside the drawer, there was a dagger, with a strangely-carved handle of ebony and a short, slim blade. His fingers closed around the hilt as he lifted it out.

"And now, Severus, I need you to stab your father. In the back, if you please." Pettigrew's voice was as pleasant and commonplace as if he were asking him to please pass the butter.

Severus' eyes widened as he looked down on his father's face. Augustus' fear was palpable now, his eyes open so wide they showed a ring of white. He was sucking in air, gulping frantically, moving his mouth as if wanting to speak, mutely appealing to his son.

For a moment, there was a feeling of elation, of enjoying the power he held in his hand and the expression of terror in his father's eyes. But the feeling soured quickly, and for maybe the first time in his life, he looked down on his father with pity.

What now?

Pettigrew was right – the cards were in his favor. He couldn't stab his father – he would not give the Rat the rope to hang him with. He needed a wand. Any wand.

He turned slowly towards Pettigrew and held out the hand with the knife in a gesture of submission, allowing his hand to tremble. "I wish to obey, but my arms are still weak from the punishment you bestowed on me earlier…"

Impatiently, Pettigrew waved Saeran over. "Let's get this over with. I'm tired of him staring at me, and the odd way he breathes annoys me. I'd do it myself if I could, but that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

Snape's mother walked over towards her son, stowing her wand in the deep-set pocket of her robe as she approached him. _Damn._ He had hoped she would keep it in her hand. Pettigrew was still standing next to Hannah, who was trying to raise herself on one elbow. Snape's chest felt tight as he saw her out of the corner of his eye – he doubted she had felt a Cruciatus curse before. He should have never brought her.

His mother stepped up close to him and put her hand on his arm. "Severus…" For a moment he saw the familiar, faded smile, and he could almost forget that she was controlled by the madman across the room.

"Shall we go around to the other side?" His mother took him by the hand and pulled him around the bed, until they stood facing his father's back.

"Ready, son?" She placed her hand over his around the hilt of the dagger. He nodded. Augustus Snape's breathing got louder, quicker. Severus raised his arm slowly, his mother following suit. For a moment, their hands, holding the dagger, hung motionless in the air. Then, lightning quick, a sweep of the leg, and Saeran stumbled. A shout from Pettigrew, a bolt of light shooting their way. Severus dove down behind the bed, taking his mother with him. Dropping the dagger, one arm encircling her waist, he pulled her close, his other hand desperately trying to reach the wand. And found that the entrance to a pocket in a voluminous robe was hard to find. Especially with the robe piled on the floor around a squirming woman, fighting him for all she was worth. Scratching, shouting, her hand scrambling for the dagger. "_Master, he…"_

"_Crucio!"_

Hannah's screams rang in his ears.

"Let go of her and stand up, Severus, slowly, hands up in the air, or I swear I will kill this one." Peter's voice was high, agitated, almost childlike. "You know I will."

For a second, Severus lay motionless. Saeran scrambled away on hands and knees, her hair disheveled, a tear at the shoulder of her robe.

He closed his eyes and expelled a long breath. This was it then. Gambit over. He raised his hands where Peter could see them and slowly stood up. Peter had crouched down and pulled Hannah up against him like a human shield, pointing his wand at her as she twisted beneath his grip, shaking, her voice getting hoarse.

"Walk over here. Slowly."

"Leave her alone now. You got me."

"Getting soft in your old age, are you? You used to not be so squeamish." But he finally lifted the curse off Hannah, dropped her abruptly, and turned towards Severus. The screaming died down to a sobbing moan.

One curse knocked Severus to his knees, another, and he was motionless on his side.

"Saeran, if you would do the honors again?" Still wide-eyed and shaking, the witch re-tied the ropes around her son's hands.

Then, as a countercurse lifted the leaden weight off his muscles, he heard Pettigrew's voice, calm and collected now that the situation was under control again. "Don't you want to at least watch, Severus?" He waited with an amused smile while the Potions master struggled to sit up.

"Finish the job, Saeran." Peter said languidly.

Severus watched as the witch walked over to the side of the bed, bent over to pick up the dagger, and stood at the ready. At a nod from Pettigrew, she positioned Augustus, struggling with his much heavier body as she rolled him further onto his stomach. When she finally had him the way she wanted him, she stepped back with a satisfied look and lifted her arm high, the blade of the dagger glinting. Severus closed his eyes and turned away. He did not need or want to see this.

There was a dull thud and a gasping exhalation, and then the dry, rasping sound of his father's breath turned wet and gurgling, first speeding up, then growing slower and slower.

Severus still knelt, eyes closed, emotions chasing each other, passing second by second. Hate, revulsion, anger, "not like this." Finally, pity mingled with disgust as the last gurgling breath died away. She had loved him once.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I am so nervous each time I post a chapter, and it just really makes my day when you tell me what you like or think! It is pitiful, really, how often I check my in-box… 

By the way, I hereby wish to register my outrage that with all the new character categories, Flitwick still was left out in the cold. Can someone explain to me why Blaise Zabini, who was a genderless entity, and Montague, who doesn't even seem to have a first name and whose main claim to fame is getting stuffed in a toilet, get categories, but dear Filius doesn't? Hm, hm? He just doesn't get any respect!


	30. Fade To Black

"Well, that's that." Pettigrew said in the same tone he might have used before ticking an item off a shopping list. "Now, on to the fun part of the day. -You are dismissed, Saeran." He watched as the older witch backed out of the door with a bow.

Then he grinned at Snape. "Would you like to know how I did it?"

In response, Severus contemptuously turned away his head, his lips pressed together in a hard line.

"It was easy as can be, Snivellus. I showed up at the door about a week ago. Your father is an old friend, you see, not a particularly close one, but still…Anyways, I asked him to shelter me for a little while. Not to brag, but I _was_ the wizard closest to the Dark Lord over the last few years. Your father knew that well. A good man, really – pity he had to die.

"It was lovely, the first few days. So many nice evenings in front of the fire with a bottle of wine, reminiscing about the good old days… I told him how much I regretted not having been able to do more for him. I knew well the aspirations he had back then, you see. Do you want to know what I told him?" Pettigrew's face shone with delight. "I told him that it was entirely _your_ fault that he never advanced into the upper ranks of the Dark Lord's legion. That_ you_ were poisoning His ear against your father, telling Him he could not be trusted. You will be happy to know that he had absolutely no trouble believing that, and that he died hating you more than ever." With a smirk, he bowed in Severus' direction. The Potions master gave no indication that he was listening to a word coming out of Peter's mouth.

"You said that I wasn't a good student," the Rat continued in a mock-injured voice. "But you're wrong, Severus. I learned so much. I learned from the best. Everyone knows Mulciber was the best at the Imperius curse. I had him teach me. Just think about what your mother did today, and then tell me again that I am a poor student." He laughed. "When your timid little mouse of a mother stands up in front of the jury, and tearfully tells the story of how her son murdered her beloved husband in cold blood, who do you think the jury will believe, Severus? Especially with your reputation?"

At that, Severus finally looked at the smaller wizard, contempt in every line of his face.

Pettigrew shook his head. "Sort of ironic, isn't it, that Frank Hannigan hates you every bit as much as I do? Opposite reasons, absolutely the same result. No, Severus, this time it will be the Dementors for you. – But the night isn't getting any younger. Too bad I can't actually damage you too much. But as used to the Cruciatus as you are, there ought to be a fair amount of fun to be had before you become useless. But I have something special planned for you. Do you recognize this?" He pulled a wand out of his pocket. "It's sort of poetic, isn't it? To use your dead father's wand for the inaugural curse of tonight's entertainment? _Crucio!"_

Hannah looked on in horror as the curse hit, and Severus doubled up on the ground with a short moaning expulsion of breath, every muscles tensing whip-tight.

_Used to it?_ What was that supposed to mean? How did you get _used _to this? After getting hit three times, she was still nearly incapacitated. Her throat was raw from screaming, and every muscle in her body felt like quivering jelly, powerless, aching and throbbing. Her mind whirred from word to image, having a hard time holding on to reason, disjointed thoughts whirling by, racing around like a carousel horse. Just the memory of the pain was enough to drive tears to her eyes. How could he bear it like that?

"Stop it." Her voice barely obeyed her. "Please, stop it."

It wasn't much more than a whisper, but Pettigrew had heard her. He turned to her with lifted eyebrows and his mouth slightly open, as if he had completely forgotten about her presence. Then his face relaxed into a grin. "That's right - we have an audience, Severus."

He let his wand-arm drop, and Snape's body sagged as the curse lifted.

"How about that? Someone is pleading for you." A few steps, and he crouched down near Hannah. Grabbing her roughly by the chin, he tilted her face up and bent forward until his fleshy lips almost touched her ear. "You have bad taste in wizards, my dear," he hissed, flecks of spittle flying against her skin. Then he let her drop again, and straightened up. With a sneer, he looked at the prone figure. "Doesn't it make you feel good, Severus, to have someone actually care about what happens to you? Though why she would, I do not know. There's just no accounting for taste. – So, should I kill her now, or wait until later? You know it has to happen. I'm afraid my plans do not include anyone other than you. '_Kill the spare'_ – ah, the memories…" He sighted regretfully, then visibly cheered up. "Well, before we continue, let's have a drink – to your health, maybe?" He grinned, then turned for a brief moment to retrieve a bottle and a glass from the tall credenza next to the door.

At that, Severus slowly lifted his head. Strands of black hair, damp with sweat, were stuck to his face, half-obscuring his features. Hannah tried to smile at him, but the attempt failed miserably as tears rose in her eyes instead.

Through her tears, she could see Severus looking at her intently, his black eyes boring into hers. She had seen that look before – it was the look he employed when he was waiting for a dunderhead – student or colleague – to come up with what should be an obvious answer. There was something he needed her to see, to understand. He suddenly dropped his gaze pointedly to the side. Her eyes almost involuntarily followed his. _What did he want?_ There was nothing there but the jumbled heap of her belongings where Pettigrew had dumped them out of her bag. He looked back at her, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.

For only a second or two, they stared at each other_. I don't understand_, Hannah thought wildly. _What _is_ it?_ If only her brain would stop racing around like a rabbit…

She stared blankly at him. All of a sudden, the realization hit like a thunderbolt.

_Of course. The Portkey. How could she have been so stupid?_ He had done all the configuring at Hogwarts - for _both_ directions. But Pettigrew must have assumed they had Apparated in. The tin was still in the pile on the floor. All she had to do was wait until Pettigrew was distracted, then grab the tin, and she would disappear. She could get help.

Snape must have heard her quick breath of relief. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

At that moment, Pettigrew turned back around. Amber liquid sloshed around in a water tumbler.

"Ladies first, don't you think?" He crouched down next to Hannah again, lifted her face, and held the glass to her mouth. She tried to twist away, her lips pressed together tightly, only to have him tighten his grasp to a near vise-grip. "You_ will_ drink," he hissed. He forced the glass between her lips, against her teeth, until the whisky spilled over her chin and down the front of her robe, and she gulped down a choking mouthful. Only then was he satisfied and let her drop again.

"Well, to your health, Snivellus." He held the glass up with a grin before downing the remaining content.

He placed the glass on the credenza, and walked around Snape's prone body. "Let's see, now we…"

Sudden, Snape's leg kicked out viciously. Pettigrew barely managed to jump out of the way before the Potions master's booted foot connected with his shin. Snape was scrambling after him as well as he could, when Pettigrew in a quicker, more fluid movement than Hannah would have given him credit for pointed his wand at Snape's offending leg. "_Adflictatio_!"

Here was her chance, Hannah thought. Severus had created the distraction on purpose, of that she was sure. Trying to get her limbs to cooperate, she twisted towards the pile on the ground. Just a second more, and she would have it.

And then, her mind stopped spinning for a moment. _What the hell did she think she was doing? _If she grabbed the Portkey, sure, she would be fine, but what about Severus? Did he really think Pettigrew would just patiently wait around for a rescue team to arrive? No, if she left, he was as good as dead. It all made sense now. Damn him and his heroics. They were in this together. She was sure as hell not leaving without him.

Snape, his body bracing against the pain, tried to ignore his leg, where the bones seemed to have liquefied into molten metal, red-hot, burning from the inside out. _What would he have to do to get the message through her thick skull? What was she waiting for?_ Taking a chance, he looked up and glared at her, angrily and impatiently. To his surprise, she was glaring angrily right back at him. _Now_ what was her problem? This really should not be that hard to figure out. _Blast that woman. _The last thing he needed was another death on his conscience.

"Don't do that again, Severus," Pettigrew petulantly interrupted his thoughts. "You leave me no choice but to punish you."

He stepped back over to Hannah. "Now watch, my dear, and see how it is done."

After that, it was wave after wave. Hannah begged and pleaded as Severus convulsed on the ground, defenseless, one curse hitting before the previous one was lifted. She watched as his stoicism got stretched beyond endurance, and then he was screaming, screaming until his voice started cutting out, going hoarse, until all that remained were these low moaning, keening sounds that she would not forget for as long as she lived.

When begging seemed to do nothing, she started throwing insults at Pettigrew, taking her cue from what Severus had hurled at the wizard earlier. Invective rained down on his head, but he seemed to be immune to distraction from her. Finally, all she could do was weep. It was her wrenching sobs that finally drew Pettigrew's attention.

His eyebrows were drawn together in irritation. "Your incessant noise is getting rather wearying. I can barely hear Severus," he complained. Hannah was too far gone to care. In exasperation, Pettigrew lifted his wand at her. For a minute there was unbearable heat in her throat, and then something seemed to tear with a white-hot stab of pain. She tried to speak, to say something, anything, but nothing came out. She clutched at her throat in horror as Pettigrew started to turn back towards the Potions master.

Had she made the wrong choice? Should she have left and forced Pettigrew into a quick, merciful end? What Severus was having to endure went far beyond the imaginable… She tried to turn away, to at least not look any more, but he noticed and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back around.

"Watch, or you die right now," he ground out between clenched teeth.

It seemed like the endless procession of agony had gone on forever when finally Severus' eyes rolled back in his head. Only the whites were visible under half-closed eyelids; his body going limp and still. Hannah's heart stopped for a beat. Was he…?

Pettigrew ambled over and prodded him in the side with a shoe tip. "Out cold," he said, his lip curling up to reveal large front teeth, his nose wrinkling. "That's no fun." Hannah started breathing again.

Rubbing his hand over his chin, Peter stepped back. Severus, hands still tied, unconscious, was obviously not a threat. He looked at Hannah. "Just for insurance," he said with a snicker, and for a moment she descended into an even deeper circle of hell as the Cruciatus hit for the fourth time. It lifted quickly enough this time, and Pettigrew walked over to the door.

"You two deserve a break for a while. I have a few more details to settle with dear Mrs. Snape, so you take a breather. I'll be back soon." And with that, he left.

Hannah couldn't believe it.Gone. He had gone. Shivering, gasping for air, she looked around wildly. She had to make it, somehow. Inch by agonizing inch, she crawled towards Severus. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around him, pushing off with her legs, dragging his dead weight behind her. From somewhere, she found strength she would have not suspected she had. The sound of footsteps came back up the stairs when she in desperation lunged forward the last half yard of space, and, with one arm still around him, stretched out her hand and grasped the tin. Just as the door opened, she felt the familiar tug of the Portkey. A second later there was torch-light, and the soft touch of the Oriental rug in Severus' office beneath her outstretched fingers.

They were back.

.-.-.-.

Immediately, there were voices and faces, blurry before her eyes.

"Get Poppy, quick!"

Someone tried to gently pry her arm off Severus' chest, but she was hanging on for dear life.

"Can you tell us what happened?" came the gentle voice of the Headmaster. She just stared at him, with soundless sobs wracking her frame, tears running down her face quietly.

"I don't think she can talk." That was the shaky voice of Remus Lupin.

Then someone knelt down next to her, and Hannah looked up into the sweet old wrinkled face of Filius Flitwick. She mouthed a word to him silently, anguish written all over her features. Filius nodded reassuringly. "We'll take care of him. You can let go now. It'll be all right." He spoke calmly, quietly, like he would speak to a frightened child. As she finally released her hold on Severus, the ancient wizard half-lifted her, pulling her head against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "Shh, child, it's over. It's over." He rocked her gently, back and forth, wiping the tears that kept coming.

She barely heard the voices of Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster arguing while the mediwitch was working on Severus.

"…I don't care what you think you need to know, she can't even speak right now. And she's hysterical. I'm going to give her something that will put her to sleep, and when she wakes up, you can sort out the details." There was a low mumble before she heard the strident voice of the mediwitch again. "Absolutely not. - Remus, Albus, see that Severus gets transported to the hospital wing. Albus, you may also want to let the rest of the staff know that they are back. And now the whole lot of you will let me do my job, you hear?"

A few seconds later, there were hands smoothing back her hair. "Can you look at me, dear?" Hannah reluctantly turned her head. Poppy Pomfrey was holding a phial. "This will help you sleep."

She didn't want to sleep. She turned her face away, pressing her lips together tightly.

The next moment, the phial was pushed against her mouth, and her head was back in the vice grip; the potion was gagging her, choking her. She looked up at Flitwick wide-eyed, hurt, betrayed. Tears were running down his old cheeks. "I'm sorry, love. It's for your own good. I'm so sorry." His soft blue eyes were the last things she saw as the world faded to black.


	31. The Show Begins

If you skipped the last chapter - Hannah and Severus made it back to Hogwarts.

* * *

When Pettigrew entered the empty room, his jaw dropped. He stood there, disbelievingly, for several heartbeats before his eyes narrowed. 

"Saeran! Come! They're gone." Like a petulant child, Peter Pettigrew stomped his foot on the ground. "Where did they go? Now what? Now what do I do?" He would have to hurry; it wouldn't do to stay here too long. Pacing the room, he chewed on his fingernails. How much time did he have? It wouldn't do to be caught like a rat in a… no, that was not a good thought. Not a good thought at all.

He should be safe for a few minutes, at least – after all, his escaped prisoners were not in any condition to communicate clearly. Nor were they in any condition to go for help quickly. He chortled at the memory of the unconscious man and the whimpering woman.

So – how to make sure he wasn't caught? There was so much still left to do…

Couldn't Disapparate from here, not without leaving the house…couldn't Floo…a Portkey? Yes, that would let him get away in time should unwelcome company arrive outside.

As the thought struck him, he stood still in sudden consternation and closed his eyes in for a moment. A Portkey. They must have had a Portkey. That was how they had left. Peter cussed under his breath, resuming his pacing while Saeran looked on with concern. Everything had been going so well – why was it something had to go wrong at the end? It should have all worked out beautifully…

First things first. A Portkey, then. He looked around the room and finally settled on the water tumbler that still stood on the credenza in a small puddle of spilled liquor. The glass glowed briefly as Peter secured his way of escape. Once that was taken care of, he breathed easier.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and thought hard, his forehead wrinkling up in concentration. How could he still turn the situation to his advantage? There must be a way…

"We just have to change the story a bit. The basic idea should still work. A bit of staging…Get rid of their things – no one will believe they just took off and left without their wands…He did touch the knife, they can prove that… It will be your word against his… It would have been better had he been caught here. It won't be as good, no, but it still might work out just fine. And if not, I can simply kill him afterwards." With that mollifying thought, Peter set to work.

.-.-.-

The next thing Hannah was aware of was that her eyelids seemed to be made of lead. They might as well have been glued shut for all the effect her feeble attempts at lifting them had. She felt like she had gone ten rounds with a Hungarian Horntail – every last bit of her was aching and sore.

There was a bitter taste in her mouth, and she could hear voices murmuring, drifting to her ears as through a layer of cotton wool.

Languidly, she lay there, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. There was something… Quite suddenly, her eyelids snapped open, and she attempted to sit up in bed – an attempt quickly aborted as the room started spinning around her in dizzying circles. There were faces, going in and out of focus, distorted like people in fun-house mirrors. She quickly closed her eyes again.

She felt a cold something press against her mouth, and the bitter taste returned with a vengeance, but as she obediently swallowed, the buzzing in her head let up and the world returned to a stationary state.

"Well, she didn't fight it this time," she heard a voice. Who was that? Oh yes – grey hair, and stern. She had made her sleep. Hannah grimaced.

"She should be more lucid in a few minutes," the voice continued.

"Hannah, can you hear me?" Now_ that_ voice she knew for certain – high-pitched, gentle. Flitwick.

She nodded.

"We need you to wake up." His small, papery hand was stroking hers. There was a quiver in his voice. Quivers weren't good. Hannah slowly dragged her eyelids open again. This time, she could see them. Lots of them. Flitwick, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey, Remus Lupin. They had looks on their faces she didn't like. But someone was missing…

Her eyes widened, and she looked around the room as she struggled to sit up, eyes flitting from face to face, until they settled on Filius with something akin to panic, wordlessly pleading. "He's all right, Hannah, don't fret yourself. Severus is all right." Flitwick's voice coaxed as he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down. Hannah didn't miss the looks the others were exchanging. It didn't seem as if they agreed.

Her voice. Something had happened to her voice. Gingerly, she tried it out.

"Where is he? Can I see him?" Gads, that hurt. Every word was painful, and her voice sounded like sandpaper. But it _was_ working.

"Your voice will be right as rain soon. Once you have settled a bit from the last potion, I'll have you gargle. Something happened to your vocal chords. It took quite a bit of fancy spellwork to fix those, I tell you that," Pomfrey said in an over-hearty voice.

Nobody had answered her question. "Where is he? How is he?"

Pomfrey spoke in a soothing voice. "He woke up a little while ago. He'll be feeling quite out of sorts for a few days, but he should be fine. That is…well, if…" She cast a helpless, searching glance at Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster looked down at Hannah with grave eyes. "I confess I don't know how to tell you this. It was quite hard on all of us, but there was simply nothing we could do. A little more than an hour ago, you see, a delegation of Aurors showed up. They arrested Severus for the murder of his father and took him away. Shortly thereafter, everyone on the Wizengamot got an urgent owl from the Minister of Magic with orders to convene this evening for a trial. It seems that your father is not wasting any time. And we have a lot to talk about."

.-.-.-.

The cot the guards had unceremoniously dropped him on was lumpy and hard. If he were a very skinny ten-year-old boy, it _might_ have been long and wide enough to rest on comfortably. As it was, he had simply given up and stretched out on the concrete floor. Flat on his back, he stared at a crack in the ceiling, waiting for them to come back. After a while, exhaustion taking over, his eyes drifted shut.

"So glad that you are making yourself comfortable." The grating voice of Frank Hannigan woke him from an uneasy, fitful sleep. He reluctantly opened his eyes. Hannigan was flanked by two burly guards, wands trained on him. There was undisguised elation on his face.

"Get up, Snape."

Not that he didn't try, but in spite of Poppy's best – if abbreviated – efforts, the effects of the Cruciatus curses had left him bone-tired and exhausted, nauseous and trembling, and as much as he wished otherwise, his legs simply would not cooperate. They watched him struggle for a while, fighting to at least sit up. Finally, Hannigan nodded to the guards.

"Do something. I don't have all day." They approached him cautiously, the younger of the two keeping his wand trained on him while the older one hauled the weakened man up on the cot as if he were no more than a sack of potatoes. They propped him up against the wall, and then retreated to their positions next to Hannigan.

The beefy Auror stepped to within an arm's reach of Severus.

"This, Snape, is without a doubt one of the best days of my life." He paced back and forth the length of the cell, four steps one way, four steps back. "I honestly can't see how you can wriggle your way out of this one. Your own mother as the key witness. This should be glorious." He stopped, and bent forward until his face was only inches from the Potions master's. "I told you I would get you. I didn't expect you to render me this much assistance in finally ridding the world of you, but I am most grateful and delighted." He gave a contemptuous half-bow.

His mocking sneer disappeared instantaneously as Snape leaned forward and, never breaking eye-contact, spat at him, spattering the front of Hannigan's robe before leaning back against the wall in satisfaction.

For a second, Hannigan stood as if frozen, staring into Snape's eyes, both faces contorted with the hatred of twenty years. Then, slowly, deliberately, Hannigan lifted his hand and struck his prisoner across one cheek, then back-handed him across the other hard enough to whip Snape's head around. The heavy signet ring on his finger left a gaping gash across the cheekbone. Breathing heavily, Hannigan stepped back between the guards.

"In a few hours, you will pay, Snape, for everything you've ever done. And none of your connections will help you." As he turned to leave, he looked at the guards and motioned with his thumb over his shoulder at the prisoner. "Clean him up as well as you can, and mend that cut. We wouldn't want anyone to think we are mistreating our prisoners around here, now, would we?" he said with a smirk.

The guards advanced towards the prisoner as the door of the cell closed behind him.

.-.-.-.

Early in the afternoon, the Hogwarts members of the Order of the Phoenix sat in a huddle around Hannah's bed in the hospital wing.

"So, do we know what is going on?" Minerva McGonagall asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dumbledore shrugged in frustration. "I can barely get a word out of the Ministry. The only thing I have been told is that they plan on calling only one witness, and that there is physical evidence they will present. The Wizengamot will hear the rest at trial at the same time as everyone else. I admit, there was a grin on Frank Hannigan's face as he talked to me that I did not like in the least."

It had been decided to let Flitwick take the Advocate's role this time. Everyone only too well remembered the near-fiasco at the last trial when Dumbledore had temporarily resigned his position to defend Severus. There would be no repeat of that performance, and Dumbledore would retain his influence as Chief Warlock.

"I don't like it," Hannah said. "What can he be planning?"

"All I know is that with the kind of speed he is pushing the trial through, he must think he has all the evidence he is going to get, and doesn't want to lose the advantage by giving anyone time to mount much of a defense."

"Can he do that?"

Dumbledore nodded. "If the Ministry wants the Wizengamot to convene at a certain time, that is when it will convene. So yes, Harvey can do that."

"And if you had ever met Harvey Graham," Flitwick said bleakly, "you would know that that means that your father can do that."

"Should I go in? Would it help if I went to the Aurors' Office and told them what I saw?" Hannah asked, her voice raspy and raw.

Remus shook his head. "As far as I can see, the only thing that would gain you is an arrest as an accomplice to murder."

"I agree," Flitwick piped up. "The very fact that they didn't arrest you means that they don't know about you. Pettigrew either doesn't know who you are, or decided to keep that information to himself."

"I don't think he knows," Hannah said thoughtfully. "I have been wracking my brain, and I don't think there was anything with my name on it in my bag, just the usual clutter. The only thing that would have identified me is my ledger, and that stayed behind in Severus' office."

Dumbledore stroked his beard slowly and deliberately. "That, my dear, makes you our ace in the hole. I would really like to keep the element of surprise on our side, if we can. I believe it would work in our favor if Frank does not know that his daughter is involved. That we know what really happened, and that we have an eye-witness, is really the only advantage that we have."

"So what is the plan?" Hannah asked.

Flitwick shrugged, an aggrieved expression on his face. "It's hard to make a plan if you have no idea what story or evidence they are going to present, isn't it, now? Worst case scenario, you simply appear as a witness for Severus. Your word against theirs. Best case scenario, they hand us something that we can use as they present evidence. After all, you were there; they weren't. We'll just have to hope for the best."

Dumbledore patted Hannah's hand and then rose from his seat. "Well, dear, I think we better let you rest now. You will need all the strength you can get later today. Filius, Remus and I will go ahead and see if there is anything we can find out or do. Minerva, you will stay here see and that Hannah gets there all right?"

The older witch nodded grimly. "I will."

.-.-.-.

"It's time to go." Minerva's voice startled Hannah out of her thoughts. "Are you ready?"

Hannah had tried to sleep, but sleep had proven elusive. Too many thoughts kept running around in her head. She stood up carefully, trying out her legs. That morning, while she had filled Dumbledore and the rest of them in on what had happened, Poppy Pomfrey had worked her magic, and it was a testimony to the mediwitch's skills that, other than a lingering all-over ache and bone-deep weariness, no effects remained of the assault she had withstood the night before. Her voice was still hoarse, but it didn't hurt too much to speak anymore.

Pomfrey looked on with satisfaction as her patient rose unassisted. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers, as if remembering something she had forgotten. "Just a second."

While she was gone, Hannah turned to McGonagall. "If you don't mind my asking – there was something I was wondering about. How did you all even know that we were gone?"

McGonagall shrugged with a thin-lipped smile. "Blame Severus' fastidiousness. When Gwinny – she looks after Severus – went to clean in the Potions classroom just before midnight, she saw light still on in the office and went to investigate. When she spotted the pile of scrolls on the desk she became alarmed – Severus apparently _never_ leaves anything on his desk when he leaves for the night. On closer examination, she found your ledger, as well, and a rather disgruntled owl, which apparently had been stuck in the office for quite some time. Now, obviously Severus is not in the habit of leaving owls to wander around his office, either. When she checked in his quarters and his work room and he wasn't there, she got even more worried. She rallied the rest of the house-elves, and when they could find neither hide nor hair of Severus _or _you anywhere, they alerted the headmaster. Who in turn got us out of bed. So there you have it."

At that moment Madam Pomfrey returned with her hands full of small phials. "Take these. The Aurors didn't let me give them to Severus when they came to take him." Her voice was outraged. "I could come up with several rather colorful phrases to describe what I think of the conduct of those fiends, but I will restrain myself for the moment." She took a deep breath. "Anyways, the blue ones are for pain, the dark brown ones are Strengthening Elixir, and this one," she pointed to the smallest one, "is for sleep. He should have the first two every two hours. And so, by the way, should you." She handed her a small bag filled with lozenges. "Keep sucking on these about every two hours or so as well, and it should help with your voice. You will need to be able to talk."

Hannah took them and put them in the pocket of her robe. "Thank you. I'll do my best to get them to him."

"Here." McGonagall held out a thick, hooded cloak for Hannah to wear. "Put this on. We don't want anyone to recognize you until it is time."

Hannah obediently pulled on the cloak and nodded to the older witch. "I am ready."

.-.-.-.

It was early evening when the door opened again and admitted the two guards. The younger one again held him at wand point as the older approached him with a phial of potion.

"Hannigan says y'er to have this." He held the small, dark green bottle out to Severus. "Ya don't have to look so 'spicious," he continued. "It's only Invig'ration Draught. Should help get ya on yer feet."

Snape took the phial, uncorked it, and smelled the content. He debated with himself – it stuck in his craw to do _anything_ that Hannigan wanted. Yet the idea of being dragged in front of the crowd by the guards because he could not even stand on his own held no appeal whatsoever. With a bitter shrug, he lifted the phial and drank the contents. As he sat back and closed his eyes, he could feel the effects almost immediately – streams of warmth entering his limbs, making his skin prickle.

"Can you walk, or do we have to float you?" the younger ask with mock concern.

"I can walk," Severus spit out through clenched teeth, hoping he hadn't just told a bald-faced lie. Steadying himself against the wall, he slowly stood up. He ached all over, especially his leg, where Pettigrew's curse seemed to have aggravated his old injury. Slowly, laboriously, he made his way down a long, empty corridor. Another guard stood watch over a heavy oaken door at the end of the passageway.

Severus paused for a moment as he approached the threshold. This was familiar territory now. His face grew even whiter. He stood up as straight as he could and carefully schooled his face to show no emotion. There would be nothing to indicate to Frank Hannigan that he was anything but in control.

.-.-.-

When Hannah and McGonagall arrived in the foyer of the Ministry, they were met by Remus Lupin. He gave Hannah a quick, worried hug, and then turned to McGonagall. "We have some seats reserved. Follow me."

They took the elevator down to the basement and followed Remus into the courtroom. As Hannah looked up at the high bench, she saw Dumbledore in his seat as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, in the same plum-colored robe as the rest of the council. Next to him sat a small, balding, pedantic-looking wizard – Harvey Graham, the current Minister of Magic.

Most of the seats were already filled, and Hannah, her features hidden under the dark shadows of the hood, followed Remus to a row far in the back. She spied Filius Flitwick already sitting at the far end of their row with a furious expression on his face, quite obviously in a considerable state of anger and aggravation.

"What are you doing here, Filius? Aren't you supposed to be with Severus?" McGonagall asked abruptly.

Flitwick looked close to the boiling point. "So I would have thought. I _am _supposed to be his advocate, after all. It would have been _nice_ to talk to him beforehand, but according to _Frank_, there is _nothing_ in the statutes that would require him to_ let _me. Told me to sit tight and he'd call me when he needs me. _Pigheaded, stubborn, obstinate jack-a_…_Ehem_." He wiped his face with a checkered handkerchief and looked at Hannah. "If it weren't for you, we'd be completely in the dark."

As the last seats filled, the court was called to order. Hannah finally located her father, who had been conferring with a couple of Aurors at the far end of the judges' bench. As the audience settled with an expectant hush, Frank Hannigan stood up. The reporter and photographer in the front row readied their notebook and camera as everyone looked on with anticipation. _Well,_ Hannah thought bitterly, _looks like the show is about to begin._

Hannigan cleared his throat dramatically. "Bring in the Accused."

The two Aurors who had been with him walked over to an oaken door, drew their wands, and took position on either side of the entrance. The door opened. Hannah's heart rose into her throat as she saw him. If she had not known him so well by now, she might have been fooled – but she saw the stiffness in his stride, the way his eyes stood out like coals against the chalky whiteness of his face. He was not well. As he walked closer, she could make out a dark bruise across one cheekbone, and white-hot anger threatened to choke her. Nothing Pettigrew had done had caused that bruise – he had been careful not to leave physical marks on his victim. There was steel in her eyes as she looked at her father, who had come down from the bench, and now stood leaning nonchalantly against the judges' balcony. She would make him pay for this.

* * *

A/N: 

I have looked over a bunch of the trials/hearing in the books, and the wizarding justice system really is a joke. The 'checks and balances' system seems to be absent, and what appears to be almost unrestrained power is given to a few individuals. Just the idea of a father presiding over his own son's trial, or the fact that someone can be sent to Azkaban without a trial at all are scary thoughts. And then there is Azkaban itself (and its sanity-sucking guardians), which, as lucidity pointed out, would be unacceptable as humane punishment from our point of view.

Many thanks to lalaluu for beta-reading, and to Verity Brown, whose constructive criticism, suggestions, and beta-input made me work a whole lot harder but made this chapter a whole lot better! Thank you - you guys are great!


	32. Déjà vu

As the door opened, Severus experienced a bad case of déjà vu that left an icy feeling in his gut, but no one watching would have known. With crisp strides he made his way to the by-now quite familiar chair facing the high bench in the very center of the room. Without being told to do so, he lowered himself into it. Defiantly, he looked up into the faces of those who would sit over him as judge and jury.

For a moment the chains on the chair glowed golden before they snaked over his arms and drew them tightly to the armrests of the chair. His eyes closed briefly at the familiar pressure.

Dumbledore stood up, addressing the court. "It will not be necessary to restrain him. I can personally vouch that the court will have Professor Snape's full cooperation."

Harvey Graham's eyebrows drew together questioningly. "What do you think, Frank?" he asked in an uncertain voice.

Frank Hannigan walked over to the prisoner. Pointing at him, he said in an unctuous voice loud enough for the entire assemblage to hear, "As much as I appreciate the sentiment, we have overwhelming evidence that this wizard is guilty of cold-blooded murder. It would be irresponsible to allow him even a small chance of hurting yet another innocent being. He should remain bound." There was a low murmur of voices, supporting his statement.

"Quite right, quite right." Graham nodded with relief.

"If that is all, then?" Hannigan faced the court with lifted eyebrows. "I am ready to begin proceedings."

Holding up his hands in resignation, Dumbledore sat back down. Frank Hannigan nodded to the court scribe and began.

"If the Accused has an advocate, that person may now take his seat." He indicated a narrow desk to the front of the audience section.

"He darn well knows that he has an advocate, that double tongued – oh, what's the use," Flitwick murmured as he scrambled off his too-tall seat to make his way to the front. He looked up into Hannah's worried face as he sidled by her. "It will be fine, dear."

She just nodded distractedly. Her throat ached every time she looked at Severus, chained to the chair, front and center of the Wizengamot. Isolated, separated by a swath of empty space from the sea of faces looking at him, he just looked so terribly alone. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be subject to all those stares, all those people looking him over with expressions ranging from disgust to morbid curiosity. He should be in bed somewhere, resting, recovering from the horrors of last night. This was all so unbearably _wrong._

"We are here today to bring to trial Severus Snape, accused of the murder of his father, Augustus Snape. The prosecution calls as its witness Saeran Snape, mother of the Accused."

Flitwick stood up and addressed the court. "Will I be allowed to ask questions while the prosecution interrogates her?"

With a flustered look, the Minister of Magic looked at Hannigan again. "Well, Frank?"

"I do not wish to have my witness continually interrupted. He will be allowed to cross examine after I'm finished – if that is satisfactory to you?" He looked questioningly at the Minister of Magic, who just waved him on.

"Whatever you think, Frank, whatever you think is best."

At a satisfied nod from Hannigan, a smaller door on the side opened, and Saeran Snape entered, leaning on the arm of an Auror, looking smaller and greyer than ever. She was seated in a chair placed at an angle, facing both the jury and the judges' balcony, with her back to her son.

"State your name please?"

"Saeran Snape." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"First of all, let me express my condolences on behalf of the court and all present on the tragic death of your husband. You are the wife of the deceased, and the mother of the Accused, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"How would you describe the relationship between your son and your husband?"

Saeran looked down at her hands, picking nervously at the fabric of her robe.

"It…wasn't good, sir. They never got along very well."

"Mrs. Snape, you told me earlier that your son and your husband had an altercation the last time that he came to your house?"

"Yes, they were shouting at each other. When I came into the parlor, they were standing with wands drawn, threatening each other."

"Do you know what the quarrel was about?"

"I do." She swallowed hard, and looked over at the witches and wizards in the jury box. There was a look of defiant pride on her face now. "My husband knew about atrocities that my son had committed as a follower of You-Know-Who, terrible things he had done. He was threatening to reveal them to the Ministry. It never sat right with my husband that Severus would escape without punishment after so many years of bringing death and pain to the Wizarding community."

Hannigan smirked. "I take it your son did not take kindly to that?"

"No, he got quite angry. He – " She sniffled a bit, and lowered her eyes before continuing to speak. "He told Augustus that his or my life wouldn't be worth a Knut if he so much as breathed a word to the Ministry."

"So he was threatening you."

Saeran nodded.

"You need to speak up, please."

With a sigh, she sat up in the chair. "Yes."

"So you think that he returned to remove that threat?"

"I _know_ he did." Her voice was indignant now. "They arrived late last night, outside the house. You can't travel directly, you see. No access to the Floo network, and Anti-Apparition spells on the house. My husband was worried, you see. Obviously with good reason." There was a bitter edge to her voice. "I opened the door, and Severus shoved me aside. There was a young woman with him I had never seen before. She turned her wand on me, and told me they would kill me if I tried to resist. I walked up with them to my husband's bedroom. I had no choice." Her voice was cracking.

"Augustus was sitting at his desk – dealing with bills, I believe. When Severus walked in, he stood up. They got into a terrific fight. There were words, terrible words… it was frightening." She stopped to wipe a hand across her forehead. "I tried to interfere, to stop them, but the young woman cast a body bind on me. She told me to stay out of it."

The Minister of Magic rose and addressed Frank Hannigan. "Have you been able to establish the identity of the young woman?"

"I'm afraid not," he said apologetically. "The description was very general. It could have fit literally hundreds of witches. We are investigating some interesting leads though."

The Minister sat back down and waved him on. "Continue, then, please."

"My son and my husband started to duel. For a while, they seemed evenly matched. Severus and Augustus both took some hard hits." She turned to look at her son with quivering lips. "I'm surprised he's showing hardly any signs of injury. The Ministry must have taken good care of him..." She looked gratefully over to Hannigan. "Anyways, the duel seemed to take forever, but finally, my husband managed to disarm Severus. His wand flew out of his hand, under some furniture, if I recall correctly." Taking a shaky breath, she continued. "Then my husband turned to me, to help me. He walked towards the young woman, threatening her with his wand." Tears were running down her face now.

Hannigan walked over to her and placed a solicitous hand on her shoulder. "Take your time, Mrs. Snape; I think we all know how hard this must be for you." His voice oozed compassion. Saeran Snape looked up at him thankfully.

"The young woman pulled me in front of her, to use as a shield. She cast an _Impedimenta_, and as Augustus stumbled and fell, Severus quickly overpowered him and took his wand away. He immediately cast a _Cruciatus_." She broke down in loud sobs. A murmur broke out across the crowd. The members of the jury exchanged glances with each other. Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Hannigan walked over in front of the jury and, carefully unwrapping a long, thin object, placed it on the table in front of them. "I present to you as evidence the victim's wand. We performed _Priori Incantatem_ on it, and in support of Mrs. Snape's testimony, the last spell cast was indeed a _Cruciatus_." The crowd murmured its disapproval as the looks directed at Severus grew darker and darker.

The interval had given Saeran enough time to compose herself to some degree. She continued with a shaky voice. "My husband was screaming in agony on the floor, and there was nothing I could do but watch. – It was then that Severus walked over to the desk. He knew that my husband kept a small dagger, a souvenir from our honeymoon trip, in a drawer of the desk." She was crying helplessly again. "_He said…"_ A loud sob. "_He said…"_

Hannigan interrupted her. "Do you need a break? I can only imagine how terrible this must be for you. You have all our sympathy. Whatever we can do to make this easier for you…?" He handed her a handkerchief.

She wiped her eyes and shook her head. "No. I just want to get this over with." The expression on her face was heart-wrenching. She looked down at the knotted-up handkerchief and continued, obviously struggling for composure.

"He took the dagger, walked over to where his father was still struggling on the floor and bent over him. He said…" She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. "He said 'You lived like a worm, now die like a Muggle.' And then he stabbed him in the back. He killed him right in front of me." For a couple of minutes there was nothing but the sound of her distraught weeping as Hannigan allowed her testimony to permeate the room for maximum effect.

Then, slowly and solemnly, Hannigan walked back over toward the jury and placed another item on the table. "Our next exhibit is the murder weapon. Investigative spells have revealed that only Augustus, Severus, and Saeran Snape touched the weapon, in that order. Again, in a moment you will see that it fits perfectly with the testimony of our witness." He nodded towards Saeran. "If you feel ready to continue?"

She wiped her face again and squared her shoulders. "As soon as they released me from the curse, I ran over to my husband and pulled out the dagger. I know I shouldn't have, but I wasn't thinking clearly, you must understand – it was just so horrible, seeing him lying there, with that thing _stuck_ in him. I was cradling his head in my lap, crying, when Severus came over to me. - I suppose there is just a small remnant of decency left in my son that prompted him to let me live. He ordered me to make up a story of Dark Wizards getting revenge; that if I ever told the truth, they would do the same to me that they had done to him. Then, he summoned his wand, and threw Augustus' on top of his body. I suppose they cursed me again before they left, because I don't remember anything else until I woke up in the early morning hours, next to my dead husband's body." She sounded broken, her voice cracking. "You must understand how hard this is for me. He is my only son, after all. Part of me still loves him, in spite of what he has become. But I am _not_ going to let him get away with murder yet again. I figure if he kills me, he kills me. Life is worth nothing without my beloved husband anyways. We would have been married forty-five years this year. I am going to miss him so…"

There was barely a dry eye in the audience as she finished up. Half the jury was sobbing along with her.

Hannigan again addressed the jury. "I have rarely heard of such a heinous act of violence. To kill his own father in the presence of his mother - the depravity of the Accused surpasses normal understanding. As you have seen, the evidence supports the story Mrs. Snape has been telling us. Furthermore, I can confirm that the Accused was arrested in the Hogwarts hospital wing, where he was being treated for spell damage, undoubtedly sustained in the duel with his father. And that the Accused's wand seems to have mysteriously gone missing, in what is obviously a blatant attempt to suppress evidence…"

Hannah had had enough. She could not even imagine what Severus must have felt listening to his mother's words, accusing him, besmirching his reputation in front of all these people, even knowing that the witch was not in a clear mind. While her father droned on, she stood up and made her way up to the front until she stood next to Flitwick's desk. This had to end. Now.

Hannah crouched down next to Flitwick.

"This has to stop," she said. "Do something. You know this is a pack of lies. We have what we need."

A hum arose as many of the witches and wizards in the audience and on the bench noticed her. Out from under her hood, she could see several of the Wizengamot members putting their heads together and whispering, looking in her direction.

Filius looked at her with a grim smile. "I know. We couldn't have asked for anything better. And I'll try," he said. "But between that fool Graham and your father, I don't know how far I will get."

He slid off his chair, approached the bench, and bowed, cutting off Hannigan, who was just building up steam talking about his previous encounters with Snape, in mid-sentence.

"If I may be so bold as to interrupt, but there is some important information that the court should have at this point."

Hannigan had stopped talking and stared at the little wizard with barely controlled annoyance.

"Honestly, Flitwick, can't you wait your turn? I am _not_ finished yet."

Flitwick tipped back his head to look up at the much taller man. "I really am sorry to interrupt, but before you go any further, I think there is something you should know…"

"Will you sit down now, or do I have to have someone escort you back to your seat? I said I am not _finished_," Hannigan hissed coldly.

"But, you see, I can prove that your witness is lying. She doesn't know that she is lying, poor dear, but she is lying none-the-less." Flitwick smiled sadly at him.

Hannigan slowly turned a nasty shade of red, and the buzz of voices in the audience increased measurably.

Before the Auror could say anything else, Dumbledore leaned forward. "Lying, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you can prove that accusation?"

"It will only take a minute."

Dumbledore turned to the Minister next to him. "That does sound rather important, if it is true. I feel quite strongly that to expedite the proceedings we should hear him out. Shall we let him have his minute?"

Harvey Graham looked back and forth in confusion between Dumbledore and Hannigan.

"Um…I don't know…Frank?"

"I strongly advise against it. Let him wait his turn."

"Now, now," Dumbledore addressed him mildly, "I should think that you would be the first to want to make sure that your witness is reliable, Mr. Hannigan?"

"I assure you that we have interviewed her again and again, and her testimony has been steadfast and consistent. I have no doubt whatsoever as to the veracity of her story."

"Most excellent. Then you have no objections to Flitwick presenting his evidence. Minister, with your permission?"

Graham, shrinking in his seat, seemed to want to hide beneath his wizard's hat. "I…suppose?"

Hannigan shot him a contemptuous look as he bowed mockingly to Flitwick. "Your witness, then. One minute."

Lips pressed together tightly and nostrils pinched, Saeran Snape had listened to the conversation with obvious displeasure. "Really, sir, I don't know who you think you are…" she bristled as Flitwick approached.

"Now, I want you to know that I don't blame you at all," Flitwick said gently. "But I need you to just tell me again about the young woman that was with your son. You said she cursed you?"

"I already stated that, yes," she answered sharply.

"A body-bind and an _Impedimenta,_ I believe you said?"

"Quite right." She sat back in her chair with a look of righteous indignation.

Filius looked over towards Hannah, who had sat down in his empty seat, and motioned her to come forward. Slowly, she stood up and stepped up right next to the chair where Severus sat chained, facing the high bench. He turned his head sharply, but the look on his face didn't change, showing the same stoic expression he had worn throughout the entire proceedings. She knew he couldn't see her face in the shadow of the hood, but she could see his – the pallor of his skin, the gray-tinged lips, the thin white scar across his cheekbone, every hard-edged line of pain and shadow of exhaustion. Tears pricked behind her eyelids. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. _It'll be worth it to make this end for you,_ she thought.

"Mrs. Snape, if you would just turn around?" Flitwick's voice had become even softer.

She shifted in her seat until she had Hannah in full view.

At a nod from Flitwick, Hannah slid back her hood.

The photographer's flashbulb went off as a whisper rippled through the audience. Hannigan audibly gasped, and with a start, hands clenched at his side, strode over to where she was standing.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered harshly. "Sit back down _now_."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Father," Hannah said levelly, only the slightest tremor to her voice.

Saeran had started too, a fearful look in her eye.

"Do you recognize this woman?" Flitwick asked her.

"Yes," the older witch whispered hoarsely. "This is the woman who was with Severus."

"You are sure about that?"

"Yes. Quite sure."

Frank Hannigan's florid face abruptly changed color to a chalky white as the implications hit him. "You say this was the woman? Come now, you must be mistaken."

"I am absolutely certain," Saeran said, tears filling her eyes as she looked at Hannah. "It _was_ her."

At her words, a couple of Aurors drew their wands and menacingly moved closer to Hannah.

"Mrs. Snape," Hannah said as she walked over towards Severus' mother with her palms held out in front of her beseechingly, "I know that you truly believe I did those things. I'm so sorry about what has been happening to you. But you need to know that I couldn't have done what you accuse me of."

Frank Hannigan, face blotchy, eyes bulging, came after her. "Shut up _now_," he bit out through clenched teeth. "I order you to leave the courtroom. I will deal with you later."

Dumbledore spoke up, his voice grave. "According to Mrs. Snape's words, she is an accessory to murder. I am sure everyone here will agree that she will not be allowed to leave until this matter is cleared up."

Hannah turned to face the high bench again, ignoring the look her father gave her. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Hannah Hannigan, and I am Frank Hannigan's daughter," she began. Her words were drowned out by the rumble of voices that arose in the court room. _Hannigan's daughter? Involved in the murder? A witness for the defense? _The audience's interest in the case had just gone up substantially.

She watched as Dumbledore pointed his wand at his throat. A moment later, his amplified voice echoed through the chamber. "If everyone would settle down, please…I am sure we are all anxious to get this over with, so I must please ask for quiet in the courtroom..."

As order was restored, he nodded to Hannah. "Continue, please."

Her face hardened as she turned towards her father. "Maybe you would like to explain to all these good people why I could not possibly have done this?"

He walked up to within inches of her, looming over her with contorted features. "You wouldn't dare," he said hoarsely.

Ignoring him, she turned back to the Wizengamot. "Saeran Snape is not in her own clear mind. She was placed under an Imperius curse by Peter Pettigrew, an escaped Death Eater. The name should be familiar to you. This person is also responsible for the death of her husband. She's a victim in this as much as her son and her husband. She cannot be held responsible for the lies that were fed to her."

Saeran's voice was filled with hate. "I know what I saw. I know what happened."

"But I'm afraid you are quite wrong," Hannah said softly. "It could not have happened like that." She took a deep breath and pulled herself up straight before continuing. "I am a Squib, you see."

* * *

A/N: 

Many thanks to lalaluu and Verity Brown for beta-reading, and to everyone who reviewed!


	33. Verdict

For a moment, Hannah's words hung in the room, echoing in the silence. Then, an excited clamor of voices erupted in the courtroom, as the charged atmosphere of the room rose to a feverish pitch. All eyes turned with vivid interest to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

Frank Hannigan had sunk into an empty chair. His face was ghostly white. "Does shaming your family mean nothing to you?" he hissed at his daughter.

"Not when it will cost someone else his honor or his life." Hannah's voice was harsh.

Up on the high bench, Harvey Graham sat up. "I say, Frank, is that true? Your daughter is a Squib?" For the first time that morning, he looked positively animated. "Well, speak up, man."

All around the courtroom, people were talking excitedly to their neighbors, gesticulating wildly. Hannigan's Adam's apple bobbled, and his jaw muscles worked feverishly as he struggled to speak, his voice barely audible over the hubbub. "I request that the courtroom be cleared. We cannot continue proceedings under these conditions."

After a long look, Graham nodded. Aurors began herding the audience out the door, and within a few minutes, the courtroom was empty except for the members of the Wizengamot and the jury.

Hannah had used the break to turn around and steal a look at Severus. For a moment, their eyes met.

Nothing. Not even a raised eyebrow or a pinched nostril. Well, o_f course_ he wouldn't show any reaction, Hannah chided herself. Not in front of all these people.

The sound of the gavel called her attention back to the high bench.

"So, Frank…" The Minister continued where he had left off. "Is she, or isn't she?"

Hannigan looked close to apoplectic. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Yes. She is," he finally choked out.

There was more than one member of the Wizengamot who all of a sudden tried to hide a grin. Color rose in Hannah's cheeks as she noticed all the amused and pitying glances cast in their direction.

Holding out his hands in supplication, Hannigan turned to the court. "I had no idea that my witness was unreliable. We were called in to a murder scene; she told us this story, all the evidence added up – how was I supposed to know she was coerced?"

"You _squibbed_?" Harvey was now grinning widely.

"Yes." Hannah stepped up close to the Minister, cheeks flaming, and looked from him to her father. "He _squibbed_. Awful, isn't it? He thought so himself. As a matter of fact, he has been trying to hide that fact for decades – the fact that he, Mr. Perfect-Family-Tree-Hannigan, squibbed; his one and only daughter wholly devoid of magic. He is so ashamed of that fact that he will go to just about any length to hide it. Like telling anyone who would ask that he was sending me to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts, because no daughter of his would go to a school where Albus Dumbledore was headmaster. And sending me off to Muggle boarding school instead. – Should I tell them about that performance you put on for the family?"

"Stop." The word erupted explosively from Frank Hannigan's throat

"Oh, I don't think so. It was quite funny, really. You see, there was this great-uncle – Uncle Theo, wasn't it? – who started to ask questions when I was nine and still showed no signs of magic. So Father took me back into a bedroom, handed me his wand, and showed me exactly what to do and say to imitate a Levitating Charm. And then had me go into the sitting room, and repeat the motions. Which, of course, wouldn't have done a thing. So, would you like to know how he solved that problem?" She raised her eyebrows, looking at the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot with a smile that stood in stark contrast to the scorched, bitter quality of her voice. "Well, I'll tell you. He hid our house-elf behind the door, and when I, with Father proudly looking on, performed the incantation, the house-elf did her bit, and the ball I was aiming for rose into the air effortlessly. And thus Uncle Theo was persuaded. Pitiful, isn't it?"

Some among those on the bench had the grace to look embarrassed for her, but even more snickered and laughed, whispering to their neighbors behind their hands. Her father looked at her with hate-filled eyes.

"I didn't know you had it in you to be so cruel," he whispered to her hoarsely.

"I guess I did get a few of your genes then after all, didn't I?" she hissed back at him. "And while we are on the subject of cruelty, maybe you would like to explain to me how it is that you keep insisting on putting someone who is obviously ill and hurting on trial, and why he would come out of your tender care with bruises and scars he didn't have going in?"

She straightened up and addressed the Wizengamot. "But be that as it may, the fact is that Mrs. Snape's testimony can obviously not be trusted. I simply could not have hexed her. So I would ask you to please dismiss the charges against Severus Snape."

.-.-.-.

They hadn't dismissed the case. They had made her stand up and recount to them the entire story of what had actually happened last night, in detail after excruciating detail. And then submit to more extensive questioning.

Severus looked over to where his mother was still sitting. His heart contracted painfully. She looked so small and so old. Right now, she also looked furious. He sighed inwardly. Pettigrew would have made sure that she had no recollection of the actual events. He wondered how she would take it once the curse was lifted and she found out that Hannah had been telling the truth.

Frank Hannigan had taken his seat at the end of the bench again, sullen and resentful. He had not spoken another word to his daughter since her plea to dismiss.

Hannah was still standing up, looking dead on her feet now that the adrenalin of the first confrontation had worn off, answering question after question, her face pale and drawn. Her voice was getting hoarser and raspier by the minute, every word sounding like it hurt. Didn't anyone else on that court see that? Couldn't they see that she needed a break, or at least a chair? They had just listened to her talk about being subjected to the Cruciatus again and again. Didn't it occur to anyone that the effects of that did not wear off in less than twenty-four hours? Peter was long gone by now, surely they must realize that. There was nothing to be gained here that couldn't wait until tomorrow. He clenched his teeth in frustration.

It was Dumbledore who finally put an end to it.

"I think we have heard enough," he said as he stood up. "I suggest we ask the jury for their verdict now. I don't think we will learn anything new. Mr. Hannigan?"

With raised eyebrows he looked toward the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

The man knew only too well when he had been beat. "Very well." He turned towards the jury box. "You will have five minutes to think over the evidence that was presented, and then you will be asked to give your vote."

As the witches and wizards on the jury started talking to their neighbors in low whispers, Hannigan turned his head and looked at Snape with burning hatred. Severus met his eyes with bitter satisfaction – the man had been so certain that this time he would win, that he finally had him for good. Third time's the charm. Instead, he had _lost_ for the third time, and all that it had brought him was public humiliation. No, Hannigan would not sleep well tonight.

Dumbledore had waved Hannah over, and they were talking together in low voices. He wondered how much it has cost her to stand up there today. Her body language spoke of strain and utter exhaustion.

When the five minutes were up, Hannigan stood up. For a moment, Severus held his breath, suddenly uncertain. What if Hannigan had stocked the jury with those loyal to him? He cast a covert glance at the man. No, judging by the defeated look on his face, that wasn't the case.

Hannigan's grating voice rang out through the courtroom. "If you believe that Severus Snape is guilty of the murder of his father, please raise your hand now."

Only a thin, bespectacled man in the front row and a tall, red-haired witch in back corner hesitantly raised their hands, looking at Hannigan with nervous smiles.

Hannigan acknowledged them with a nod. "Carl, Lucy, thank you."

"If you believe that Severus Snape is not guilty of the crime he is charged with, raise your hand now."

All remaining ten jurors lifted their hands in the air. Hannigan stepped back with a bitter grimace on his face, and Dumbledore stood up, leaning forward against the railing of the bench. "Since the jury did not come to a unanimous decision, the case is dismissed. Severus Snape is free to go."

With a rattle, metal on metal, the chains retreated from his arms. He found himself rapidly blinking away tears at that sound. It was over.

She came over to him as soon as the verdict was read, crouching down in front of the chair. She hadn't bothered with 'blinking away'; tears were running down her face unheeded as she looked up at him. There was uncertainty in her eyes, as if she wasn't sure what kind of a reception she would get. "It's over," she said, her voice trembling and hoarse.

He stretched out his hand, half-closed, and gently brushed off her tears with the back of his forefinger. "Yes. It's over." _For now_, he thought. Pettigrew was still out there. But right now was not the time to remind her of that.

There were more tears as he touched her, but she let out a breath and smiled. "How are you?"

"Tired," he admitted. Which, granted, was quite an understatement. The potion they had given him had not worked for very long. Probably part of Hannigan's plan, too, that – to have him give out physically halfway through the proceedings, so as to have him dragged out by Aurors after being found guilty. With chagrin, he noted that it would have worked, too. He wasn't at the moment sure if he could get out of this chair unassisted.

"That reminds me." She pulled a hand-full of phials out of her pocket. "Compliments of Madam Pomfrey. Believe me, I need some, too." She handed him a blue one and a brown one. "The blue one is for…"

"I know what they are," he interrupted her with a glint of amusement.

"Well, of course you would." She looked at him with a small smile. "You probably bottled them. – Well, cheers, then."

He was not convinced that he would be able to get the stoppers out on his own – fine motor skills still seemed to be a problem – but he finally managed and drank the potions, watching as she did the same. _Bless you, Poppy_, he thought, as the constant throbbing ache that had been his companion throughout the day ebbed away. When he looked at Hannah, he saw some color slowly returning to her cheeks, as well.

She stood up, swaying a little as she did. "Let's go home."

He regretfully shook his head. "I can't. I have to look after my mother."

"Severus, right now she is under suspicion of murder, and she still firmly believes that you are the one who killed your father. And you know how hard an Imperius Curse is to remove by anyone other than the one who cast it. Not to mention other ways he may have messed with her brain. I talked to the Headmaster," she looked over to where Dumbledore and Flitwick were obviously trying to persuade Saeran Snape of _something,_ "and he will go with her to St. Mungo's and make sure that she gets the care she needs. And make absolutely certain that my father has nothing to do with how she gets treated. At least one good thing has come out of today – at least for the moment, Graham seems a whole lot less intimidated by my father." She cast a look of grim satisfaction over to where Frank was still sullenly seated at the far side of the bench. Then she turned back to Severus, and her face softened. "Go home, get some rest, and then go and see her tomorrow when you may actually do her some good. There is nothing you can do for her today."

Judging by the furious glance his mother shot at him just then, she was right. With a sigh, he gingerly got up out of the chair. "Let's go home, then."

They had almost reached the door when they heard a voice from behind them. "Wait!"

It was Flitwick He was coming after them as fast as he could, arriving out of breath and red-faced. "Here." He pushed his wand into Severus' hand. "I think you need it more than I do. You can just give it back to me tomorrow."

Severus' hand closed tightly around the slim wooden handle, worn smooth with age. He hadn't until that moment realized the cause of the niggling apprehension at the back of his mind. To be without a wand felt like missing a hand or an eye.

He looked down at the Charms professor. "I can't accept this. The offer is much appreciated though." In spite of the words, he didn't let go of the wand.

"Don't be daft, Severus. Take it. I insist."

Hannah all at once knelt down and hugged him fiercely. "Thank you. For everything. You are wonderful, you know that?"

Flitwick finally pushed her away, color rising in his cheeks. "Well, you two go now. And don't worry, Severus, we'll take care of your mother."

.-.-.-.

Remus and Minerva were waiting for them when they had made their way up into the foyer. By the time they got there, it was more than evident that no potion was going to make up for the fact that Severus' body had had more exertion than it could take in its present state. The simple motion of picking up a foot, moving it forward, and putting it back down took all his concentration and energy.

Minerva's face fell with relief as she saw the Potions master. She strode over and gave him a short, hard hug. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you. They let you go, then?"

He nodded, too tired to point out that she was stating the obvious.

Remus stretched out a hand. "I'm glad to hear that."

He hesitated, but finally took it. "Thank you." He turned back to Hannah, too exhausted to continue with pleasantries. "Ready to go?"

At that, Minerva held up her hand. "Just a second…I got something…" She rummaged around in the pocket of her robe and pulled out a fabric pouch. "Albus left this with me. He thought you might want to arrive home sooner rather than later. Judging from the looks of you, it was a wise idea – you look like death warmed over." She ignored his glare and put the pouch in his hand. "It's an authorized Portkey – it will take you right back to your quarters. We'll see to it that Hannah makes it home all right."

Hannah threw him a sudden look of panic. At the pleading, fearful look on her face, he put a protective arm around her shoulder. "I think she is coming with me." He ignored Minerva's scandalized expression. "There are still some things we need to talk about." He heard Hannah exhale softly at that. "Ready?"

When she nodded, he opened the pouch, and with his arm still around her, held it out to her. She stuck her hand in the pouch, and a stomach-turning moment later, they were standing in his parlor.

Hannah let out a breath of relief.

"As knackered as I am, I have no idea how you are still standing. You got hit so much worse than I did," Hannah said with a shiver. "And I've had much better care than you. You should probably be in the hospital wing, not down here."

"All I need is some rest," he said shortly.

"Let's get you to bed then."

He would have protested if he hadn't felt his bad leg give way right then. He managed to shift his weight to the other one just in time to keep from stumbling, but Hannah had noticed the sway. She wrapped one arm around his waist while bracing his arm across her shoulders. "Come now."

With the support, he was able to walk into the bedroom. He had not been this glad to see his bed in a long time. Carefully, she lowered him onto the side of the large four-poster.

"Where are your nightclothes?"

He pointed to the wardrobe. "In there."

She opened the door, and took a grey nightshirt off the hanger. "This it?"

"Yes."

When she handed it to him, he said, "I can manage from here. You may go now."

"I am not going until I see you safely settled." The mulish look on her face told him arguing would be fruitless.

"Fine. Turn around, then."

"Are you sure you can…?"

"Quite sure," he interrupted her sharply. When she turned her back, he managed to pull the robe up over his head and slip on the nightshirt, shifting his weight from side to side to pull it all the way down. By the time he was done, his hands were trembling from exhaustion. "There."

As she turned back around, he leaned forward to take off his boots, but a sharp stab of pain through his temple as he bent over warned him that this was not a good idea. He sat back up with a hissing intake of breath. Quickly, she knelt down in front of him. "Let me?"

She untied the laces, and then tugged off the boots and his socks. It seemed like such an intimate task – he looked down at her bent head with discomfiture. Well, things were about to get a lot worse…

When she looked up, she could see the embarrassment on his face.

"I need to…" He didn't finish the sentence, but looked over towards the bathroom.

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Of course." She helped him up and assisted him over to the bathroom door.

"Thank you. I can manage from here. – And I am _quite_ sure I can," he added as she opened her mouth, a dubious look on her face.

.-.-.-.

A few minutes later, she pulled back the covers, and he stretched out on the bed. The feeling of his whole body being supported, of his muscles finally being able to relax, was pure bliss. He closed his eyes, and let out a long slow breath – as hard as it was to believe, this day was finally over.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me some sleeping potion for you, too. Do you want it?" she said as she put a handful of phials on his nightstand.

"No. I don't think sleeping will be a problem," he said dryly, his eyes still closed. "You can go now."

"Severus…"

When he opened his eyes, he saw the same look of fear that had been there when McGonagall had suggested he go on without her. "What is it?" he asked resignedly.

When she spoke, the words came out fast, tumbling one on top of the other. "Please don't make me go. Let me stay here. I'll sleep in a chair or something. Just don't make me go."

He looked at her with furrowed brows. "It isn't proper…"

"I know it isn't proper," she interrupted him, desperation in her voice. "I was raised with the same code of conduct as you, remember. But no one will know. I will leave in the morning. No one will see me. Please – I just can't. I just can't be by myself tonight."

He gave her a long, searching look. He could see the need in her eyes, reflecting the horrors she had been subjected to over the last twenty-four hours. His heart softened – in one day, she had probably experienced more strain, terror, and pain than in all of her previous existence. Small wonder she was coming undone. He could understand that, could understand the need for someone to be there when the inevitable nightmares came, for someone to hold at bay the ghosts in the darkness. There had been times enough when he had in vain wished for the same. With a sigh, he acquiesced. "Stay, then."

"Can I borrow a nightshirt?"

He smiled at the incongruous nature of the request. "You may."

A couple minutes later, he opened his eyes again as she came out of the bathroom. The corners of his mouth twitched. With her hair down, wearing a gray nightshirt much too long for her, sleeves rolled up and the hem dragging on the floor, she looked twenty years younger, like a little girl playing dress-up. He slid over to the far right side of the bed. "There is plenty of space in here for both of us. I don't think I am much of a threat to your virtue at the moment. And you need to sleep as much as I do."

Without objection, she climbed in on the other side, a two-foot-wide no-man's-land between them.

"Good night, Severus."

"Good night_. Nox_." A wave of Flitwick's wand, and the lights winked out.

He rolled over on his right side, and had just started to drift off when he heard her voice, whispering in the darkness.

"Severus?"

"Hm?"

"Did you watch?" It took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about.

"No."

"Neither did I. But I can't get the sounds out of my head…" He could hear the tears in her voice.

He should have remembered. One of the blessings of being an Occlumens was the ability to partition his mind. Something he didn't need to deal with could be pushed away into a far corner, unheeded, ignored until later. Tomorrow, he would deal with the fallout of what had happened – look after his mother, make funeral arrangements. But for tonight, the memory of what Pettigrew had done – to him, to her, to his father – was as good as erased from his conscious mind. She, of course, had no such defenses. With a sigh, he rolled on his back, and stretched out his arm. "Come here."

Hannah caught her breath, her heart in her throat. She rolled over, closer to him, until her head lay on his shoulder. Tentatively, she slid her arm across his chest. In response, his arm wrapped around her back, pulling her closer to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," she whispered.

"Tell me what?" he asked.

"That I'm a Squib."

"Don't be a goose," he said, his voice thick with sleep. "I've known that for months."

Her heart was racing all of a sudden. _He knew_?

"How did you…?

"How thick do you think I am?" he muttered, half asleep. "Did you think I wouldn't notice that in all the months I have known you I've never once seen a wand in your hand? Look, can we go to sleep now?"

"All right," she whispered. She nestled closer against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, firm and rhythmical, slowing down as he drifted off to sleep. Right now, she was just grateful that he was alive, that she was here, safe, comfortable, and warm. Everything else could wait until morning.

* * *

A/N: 

Thanks to lalaluu and Verity Brown for making this chapter much better!


	34. Waking Up

The darkness in the dungeon was near absolute, the only light coming from the faintly luminescent face of a clock on the bookcase. It was about half past six in the morning, he noted, looking up at the dimly glowing circle. They had been asleep for nearly nine hours.

She was still sleeping, holding on to him as she had throughout the night. A few times she had stirred, and he had held her tighter as she cried out in her sleep. She had blindly reached up to feel his face, relaxing as her hand ran over his cheekbones, nose, and mouth. Once, he had awakened with a start, gasping at some instantly forgotten dream-image. She had not even woken up, yet her mere presence had somehow been comforting. It had seemed an unaccustomed, almost guilty, pleasure to feel her warm body next to his, to be able to press his face against her hair and hold her tighter and pretend she belonged there.

He looked down on her now, not ready to wake her just yet. His eyes, used to seeing in the dark, could just barely make out the traces of her face. With a soft wave of the wand, the clock-face glowed brighter. He could see her chest lifting gently with each breath; dark eyelashes lay quietly against pale skin; her lips were softly parted, relaxed.

Startling, unexpected, the thought came: what would it be like to kiss her? His experience in that field was limited – there had been a few wet, sloppy kisses up on the Astronomy Tower, a rite of passage for every Hogwarts student, shared with the girl that nobody else wanted. Later, there had been encounters in Knockturn Alley, where he would sit in a pub, waiting until a witch had knocked back enough Old Ogden's so even he had started looking good to her – encounters hasty and sordid, kisses that tasted of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor and desperation. He had decided soon thereafter that he would rather have nothing than_ that_.

He chased away the thoughts in embarrassment as she turned her head, stirring as if starting to wake. This would not do at all.

She slowly opened her eyes, looked around for a few seconds, disoriented, and then turned up her face towards him. When she saw his eyes open, watching her, she smiled.

"What time is it?" she asked sleepily.

"Half past six."

"Is that all?"

"We did go to bed rather early."

"I suppose we did…" She closed her eyes again. "I don't think I want to get up yet. I don't have a class until ten…"

"I don't think Dumbledore will expect either of us to teach today."

She winced as she rolled on her back. "Gads, I'm stiff. But at least my voice seems to be functioning again."

"Here." He reached over to the nightstand and handed her two phials of potion. "You should take some more of these."

While she drained the potion, he flicked his wand, and two wall sconces started softly glowing, leaving half the room still in shadow.

She sat up, self-consciousness returning with the light, and semi-successfully tried to restore some semblance of order to her hair with her fingers. "I must look a fright," she muttered under her breath.

"There's an unused toothbrush in the top drawer, and towels in the cabinet, if you want to freshen up," he said awkwardly.

"I think I will. Thank you."

After she picked up her robe and shoes and padded off to the bathroom on bare feet, he sat up and took his potions. He felt much better today – the paralyzing fatigue of the day before had faded away, and the remaining neuralgia was quite manageable and becoming ever more so as the potions began to work. Now that those more pressing concerns had been dealt with, he became aware of another need that had been pushed aside – namely, that there was a gaping hole where his stomach used to be. The fact that he had not eaten in well over twenty-four hours – food obviously being something else that Frank Hannigan didn't think former Death Eaters were entitled to – suddenly demanded to be acknowledged, and sooner rather than later.

"Professor Snape be wanting Gwinny?" The house-elf had answered his summons immediately.

"Yes. Could you see to it that I get some breakfast? I think I will eat in today."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." The house-elf hesitated as she turned to leave. She looked up at him over her shoulder with a wide, embarrassed grin, her ears folded back slightly. With her head, she motioned towards the bathroom, from where the sound of running water still emanated. "Should Gwinny be bringing enough breakfast for _two_, sir?"

Snape looked down at her with narrowed eyes. "I suppose you might as well. Go now. And Gwinny – not a word to anyone."

The house-elf made a zipping motion with her fingers across her mouth. "Gwinny be quiet as a mouse." She wrinkled her forehead. "Mices not be so quiet, really. They squeaks. Gwinny be quiet as a _clam_. Yes, much better." With a satisfied nod and a soft _pop,_ she disappeared.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Hannah came out, completely dressed, with her hair, for the moment, neatly tied back. She must have found his comb, too.

"There, I feel much more human now. Thank you." She handed the nightshirt back without looking at him, blushing. "Did I hear you talking to someone?"

"Just Gwinny. She is seeing to our breakfast."

"Are you sure that's all right? For me to stay little bit longer?"

He shrugged. "If there is any harm done, it is done already."

"I'm glad. I am famished," she admitted. She looked at him with a soft, teasing smile. "You know, you don't look nearly so intimidating in a nightshirt with bed hair and a two-day-shadow."

He stepped back with an annoyed glance. He was aware that even at the best of times his appearance left much to be desired, but he knew well enough that right now he must "look a fright" without her taking it upon herself to point out that fact, thank you very much. His mouth closed in a tight line. Well, he would take that as his cue to take himself off to the bathroom as well.

As he turned to go, she put a hand on his arm, and he paused for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "But I really didn't mean that in a bad way at all."

His only answer was a non-committal grunt as he closed the bathroom door behind himself.

When he re-emerged, dressed and shaved, she wasn't in the bedroom. He found her in the sitting room, thanking Gwinny for breakfast and for alerting the staff to their absence. The small table between the armchairs was filled to overflowing – a pot of tea, scrambled eggs, perfectly crisped rashers of bacon, a stack of buttered toast, a bowl of fresh fruit, stewed tomatoes…His mouth started to water, and he felt suddenly faint. He quickly seated himself in the empty chair.

Gwinny looked at him with a satisfied grin, gave a conspiratorial wink, and whispered, "_Like a clam, sir_!" before disappearing again.

.-.-.-.

Hannah poured out the tea for him as he loaded his plate. For a while – other than comments on the food, or a request to pass the salt – there was no other sound than that of two empty stomachs being satiated. When they had both eaten their fill, Hannah leaned back with satisfaction.

"There, I feel ready to face the world again. – I should probably go back to my quarters," she said half-heartedly. Color rose to her cheeks, and she looked down as she continued. "I just want to thank you again for letting me stay. I think I would have gone stir-crazy on my own. It was…very kind of you."

Severus raised an eyebrow at her formal tone of voice, but she didn't notice. Still looking down, she nervously played with the edge of the tablecloth. "So, tell me, how long have you known?"

He took a sip of his tea before answering. "That you are a… erm, a Squib? I suspected fairly early on. You never used a wand, never said a spell, did everything by hand…I would have to have been blind over the last few months not to notice. I became certain when you asked me to light the fire."

"So when you asked me to do it myself, that was a sort of test?"

"In a way."

"Why did you never say anything?" She finally lifted her eyes.

He shrugged. "I figured you would tell me if you wanted me to know. I did not wish to embarrass you."

"So you think it is embarrassing to be a Squib?" There was a sharp note to her voice.

His eyes narrowed. "That is not what I said. I simply thought it was your secret to tell."

She was quiet for a moment. "I_ was_ going to tell you…" Her voice faded out.

"Back in my office?"

"Yes. I've wanted to tell you for months. I was just too afraid you'd…" She swallowed hard. "I wish you would have said something."

"Afraid I would do what?"

Hannah looked down at her hands. "This is awkward for me to talk about."

He leaned back in his chair. "Take your time."

With a jerky movement, she got up and walked over until she stood in front of his desk, her back towards him. For a moment, she stood quietly, then spun around to face him.

"Do you have any idea what it's like? To be born into this wonderful world – and you don't have what it takes to function in it? To look at all the people around you to whom magic comes as naturally as breathing, and know that you will never, no matter how hard you try, be able to have what they have?"

With nervous, short steps, she started pacing the room. Severus followed her with his eyes as she moved back and forth, the words coming out in a torrent.

"Do you know that many of us don't survive childhood, killed or severely injured by relatives desperate to 'coax the magic out of them'? And the ministry turns a blind eye and calls it 'accidents'? How many commit suicide, because we are neither here nor there, and don't really fit in anywhere? It is hard to even find records, because the Ministry doesn't give a fig about Squibs, so why bother keeping track?

"There are the looks you get when people find out – some embarrassed, avoiding eye contact, others laughing and making stupid comments behind your back, still others with pity in their eyes, secretly glad that it is you and not them. The same kind of looks my father was afraid he would get if someone found out – and he did, didn't he? Did you see them yesterday?"

She stopped in front of the door, her back to him, before she continued speaking. Her voice dropped down low, almost to a whisper. Severus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, in order to catch what she was saying.

"I didn't tell you the worst part of the story yesterday – the one where Father put on the show for Uncle Theo? You see, he didn't tell me he was going to do that, to have the house-elf use her magic to make the ball float up. So I swished and flicked, and muttered '_Wingardium Leviosa', _not expecting anything to happen because nothing had ever happened before and _the ball moved_! For one precious hour, I thought I actually had it, that I finally got it. Magic. I was so deliriously happy I was trembling. Until the moment after the rest of the family left when my father sat down, laughed at silly little me, and explained the whole thing." She turned back around, and he could see the tears he had heard in her voice. "Father thought it was the grandest joke."

She wiped her face on the sleeve of her robe, and then resumed pacing, the heels of her shoes making clacking noises on the hard flagstone floor.

"And then everyone else my age went off to Hogwarts, and I was sent away to a boarding school in Switzerland and could only come home during the summer – and after my mother died, even that stopped."

With eyebrows drawn together, Severus looked at her questioningly. "Why did he let you stay with Flitwick? Wasn't he afraid Flitwick would find out?"

Hannah laughed, tears still hanging in her eyelashes. "Flitwick found out all right, bless his heart. He actually found out when he went to a conference that was also attended by the Charms mistress of Beauxbatons and told her that Lydia Hannigan, the deceased mother of one of her students, had been a good friend of his, and how was dear Hannah doing? On further interrogation, the poor woman sniffed that if they had an English student at the school, she would most certainly know about it, and he could rest assured that there was no such person. Armed with that information, he dug around some and then confronted my father with certain facts. For one, that it was disgraceful that Liddy's daughter was to be raised away from the magical world and kept away from home, and that if my father didn't want me during holidays, he and his sister would take me. And that if Father agreed to let me go, he, Flitwick, would do his best to suppress certain information that he was otherwise quite sure would leak out into the public. In other words, he engaged in a lovely bit of blackmail."

Severus looked at her with a smirk. "I knew there was a reason I liked Flitwick."

Briefly, Hannah paused, and a smile lit up her face. "He is really something, isn't he?"

Severus leaned back in his chair. "So, back to the topic?"

The look of worry returned to her face. She stood for a moment, rubbing her hand across her mouth and chin, thinking.

"I'll try to explain. – If you are a Squib, you have two options, really. To find yourself a nice Muggle man, get married, and live a nice Muggle existence, leaving the magical world far behind, or stay single. No wizard will marry a Squib."

"But wizards marry Muggles quite often; it is certainly not unheard of…"

"_But I am not a Muggle_." She stood with her fists balled at her side. "I am a _Squib_. No one blames a Muggle for not being magical; it is what is expected. But a Squib – we are defective, damaged, deficient…we were _supposed _to be magical and weren't. It's not the same thing.

"You see, a few times I met someone, during the summer or seeking out magical gathering places where I worked. And at whatever point I would bring it up, that would spell the end of the relationship. So, I made this rule for myself. If there was someone I liked, and there was only friendship, I wouldn't have to tell. I figured I was entitled to that. But if it started to look like there was something more, I would have to. Because it simply wouldn't be fair to let someone's heart get involved and then dump the fact that I am a Squib on him.

"And then I met you. When I saw you last summer, you were so different from anyone I had ever talked to. And I wanted to get to know you. So I hit upon a way I could for once indulge myself - with a predetermined end, no complications or expectations, there would be no reason for you to know, no matter what happened. Now granted, not much _did_ happen. But that was the general idea. I'm sorry. That probably sounds horrid."

"I think I am starting to understand the 'Oh no, not you' comment you made when we met again," he said dryly.

"You remember that?" she asked sheepishly.

"Yes, I do." He looked at her with a half-smirk, half-smile.

"It was just that I thought that I would need to tell you now. And, gads, I didn't want to. As it turned out, your 'daddy's little spy' tirades neatly solved that problem for me. At least for the moment."

It was his turn to look sheepish now. He cleared his throat. "So – back to the question?"

She sighed, running a hand over her eyes. "I thought that would be obvious by now. I have come to value you…your friendship too much, I'm afraid. I just didn't want to lose that. I was scared that if I told you, you would all of a sudden conveniently develop an insanely busy schedule, and oh-so-regretfully not have much time to come by at all any more."

"And why would I do that?" His face had drawn into immovable lines again

She held her hands out to him, palms up. "Severus, there has never been any other kind of response. Well, that's a lie – but at least that was the response from those at least marginally concerned about hurting my feeling. What was I supposed to think?"

"So what made you decide to finally tell me?" He felt almost cruel asking the question. But he needed to hear the answer.

She started pacing again, color rising in her cheeks. "I don't know how to say this without sounding stupid or presumptuous. You see, I had no idea that you knew…"

He watched as her steps quickened, back and forth. Finally, he stood up and caught her by the arm as she walked by him.

"Just tell me," he said firmly.

"All right." She stood motionless for a moment, drawing a couple of quick breaths. "If I applied my rule to myself, I would have had to tell you months ago, but I figured I could deal with my own feelings. But then, up in the turret, when you… when I…I thought that just maybe…" She looked away again, biting her lip.

He crooked his forefinger under her chin and gently tilted her face up until their eyes met again. "You thought what?"

"I thought just maybe for you there was something more than simply friendship, too. – I'm sorry," she whispered, cheeks flaming. "I told you it would sound presumptuous; you never said anything, it was just a feeling. I'm sorry."

She gazed up at him, wide-eyed and flushed, looking like she was hoping the ground would open up and swallow her, groping around for words. "No one's ever stayed, Severus. It wouldn't have been fair."

He blinked as he saw the look in her eyes. For a long moment, he stood still, eyes locked with hers. He reached up with his other hand, and gently ran a finger across her cheek.

"I knew. And I am still here," he said quietly.

"Yes. You are still here," she whispered, and he could hear aching hope in her voice.

His finger still tilting her face up, he ran his thumb across her mouth, tracing the curve of her lips. As he heard her sharply draw in a breath, he slowly bent his head down towards her.

The first touch of his lips was a mere brush, light as a feather. She became still, quiet. He could feel her breath against his mouth, warm, light, rapid. He lifted his hands, fanning out his fingers along her jaw line, into her hair, until his palms cupped her face. She didn't close her eyes as his thumbs ran across her nose and cheeks, gently caressing her skin. "You fret too much," he murmured against her lips as he lowered his mouth to hers again.

Her lips were soft, warm – he was surprised how much warmer than his they felt, gently yielding to the pressure of his mouth. He kissed her slowly, tentatively. Her eyes closed, and he could feel her smile before he could see it.

And then her arms were around him, her hands sliding up his back as she leaned into him, responding now with certainty. A tear slid out from under her closed eyelids as she answered his kiss in kind, still smiling. He could taste it in the kiss, salty and sweet at the same time.

A minute later, she leaned back a little, breathless, her eyes shining. "You kissed me," she said, as if she couldn't believe it, and he could hear the happiness in her voice, and it took his breath away.

She was just raising her face to kiss him again when a loud knock on the door interrupted them. With a groan, she buried her face against his neck. "Can't we just tell whoever it is to go away?" she murmured against his throat.

He held her tightly for a moment, and then planted a quick kiss on her head before disentangling himself from her arms. "I think I'd better see who that is," he said regretfully.

When Severus reluctantly opened the door just a crack, he found Albus Dumbledore standing on the other side, holding a copy of the _Daily Prophet._

He looked at his Potions master gravely as he handed the paper to him. "Severus, I thought you should see this."

* * *

The story really started in my head when reading the account of Neville being chucked off a pier, and dangled out the window by his ankles (and consequently dropped), while the rest of the family seems to have merrily gone on having tea, all in the name of coaxing the magic out of him. If he _had_ been a Squib, he would probably not have survived being dropped on his head from an upstairs window… 

Then J.K. Rowling posted this about Squibs on her webpage:

"Squibs would not be able to attend Hogwarts as students. They are often doomed to a rather sad kind of half-life (yes, you should be feeling sorry for Filch), as their parentage often means that they will be exposed to, if not immersed in, the wizarding community, but can never truly join it."

Add to that the fact that one dictionary definition for 'squib' is "a broken firework", and it all adds up to a bit of a grim picture for me.

Thanks a million to all of you who reviewed, and to lalaluu and Verity Brown for beta-ing.


	35. Whitechapel & Sons

I think Squibs would most likely be able to use the Floo network, since the magic is in the system and the Floo powder (and JKR said that Squibs can use magical devices.) Also, Neville was eight when people still thought he might be a Squib, and since Flooing seems to be the preferred method of family travel for wizards, if Floo travel was impossible for Squibs someone might have picked up on that fact. I think Arabella Figg was not hooked up to the Floo network because Dumbledore didn't want the Ministry aware that anyone connected to the magical world lived near Harry.

* * *

"May I come in?" Dumbledore asked. 

"I am rather busy at the moment…"

"We have quite a bit to discuss."

With a sigh, Snape opened the door to admit the elderly wizard to his quarters. If Dumbledore was surprised at the remaining evidence of a breakfast for two or the presence of his rather pink-cheeked Composition mistress, he did not let on. He just nodded to her politely.

"Good morning. I trust you are feeling better today?"

"Quite, thank you, Headmaster," Hannah answered, keeping her eyes down.

The old wizard pointed to the newspaper Severus held rolled up in one hand. "I suggest you take a look at that."

Hannah stepped up next to Severus as he unrolled the paper and unfolded the front page.

It was immediately evident that whatever Hannigan had lost by yesterday's revelation, he had not lost his influence with the editors of the _Prophet_.

SEVERUS SNAPE ACCUSED OF MURDER, the headline blared across the front page. There was a photo of Severus stiffly walking into the courtroom, snapped just after the door had opened.

"Not again," she said hoarsely, looking up at him with a stricken face. "I really thought that he would not want this trial publicized."

"Obviously, you thought wrong," he replied in a clipped voice as his nostrils and eyes narrowed. Stony-faced, he read through the article.

_Severus S. Snape, 40, was brought before the Wizengamot to answer to charges relating to the murder of Augustus S. Snape, 73, his father. The victim was found dead of a stab wound at his home near Much Wenlock in the early morning hours. Snape, currently employed as the Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was arrested a short time thereafter on the testimony of his mother, Saeran Snape, 68. Her heart-wrenching retelling of her son's final, deadly encounter with his father left the jury and audience in tears._

The article then went on to detail Saeran's testimony for several more paragraphs. Near the end, they found this:

_The Accused was represented by Filius Flitwick, a fellow professor at Hogwarts, who by clever questioning of the witness was able to cast doubt on a few points of Saeran Snape's testimony. The jury did not reach a unanimous decision, and the case was dismissed. _

In the sidebar, a photo of Frank nodded at them sanctimoniously. There was a short quote underneath:

_Frank Hannigan, Head of Magical Law Enforcement:_

"_This case is proof that our legal system works. The vote of the jury was very close, ten to two, but it is the established legal tradition to require unanimity for conviction. It is tragic to see the guilty walk free, but the jury had no choice but to vote their conscience. I, as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, support the current jury system and assure you that I would much rather see a guilty wizard escape without punishment than see an innocent man sent to prison. It is those jurors who voted to acquit who will have to live with themselves should the wizard they released back into the streets attack yet again._

"This is just awful," Hannah said quietly.

Severus shrugged cynically. "I expected nothing else."

"There is something else I need to tell you." Dumbledore's voice broke in. "I have already this morning received several owls, some of them carrying Howlers, all asking for you to be relieved of duty. The general consensus, I fear, is that where there is smoke, there is fire, and that there has been too much smoke."

"You aren't going to listen to them, are you?" Hannah asked, a frown line forming between her eyebrows.

The Headmaster shook his head reassuringly. "I have no intention to. I just want Severus to be aware that public sentiment seems to be quite ugly at the moment, and I would suggest that he not go anywhere he doesn't absolutely have to be. – Which reminds me."

Dumbledore pulled something long and thin out of the deep pocket of his robe. "I have taken the liberty of procuring a wand identical to the configuration of your own. Filius would appreciate his back before classes start, I am sure. Mister Ollivander was most helpful. Quite an amazing memory, that fellow. I only owled him last night, and he already sent over the replacement first thing this morning. It should work much better than Flitwick's for you, and you may, if you wish, exchange it later when a trip to Diagon Alley is not quite so ill advised."

Severus took the wand from Dumbledore's bony, blue-veined hands and gave it a test flick. A shower of green sparks erupted from the tip and sank to the ground in a loose spiral. He nodded his acceptance. "It will do. I will, of course, expect the bill on my desk directly."

"Yes, yes, of course. - But as I said, there are more urgent concerns right now. I talked to the staff at St. Mungo's, and they seem quite confident that your mother is making enough progress to be sent home later today. I have also arranged for the Ministry to release the body of your father to Whitechapel & Sons Mortuary; one of the owners is a personal friend of mine. I have informed him of the situation. Ask for his daughter, Miss Whitechapel. I told them to expect you sometime today to make the necessary arrangements."

Dumbledore ran a hand over his beard as he turned to Hannah. "I also had a little chat with your father yesterday after trial. You will be glad to hear that he is not pressing charges against Severus' mother. I hope you will forgive me, but I'm afraid I was _quite _adamant on insisting that you would be called as an eyewitness, both to the murder and to the lies told as a result of the Imperius Curse, should Saeran ever get tried. For unfathomable reasons, he did not seem at all fond of that idea. A bit of good news there, at least, wouldn't you say?" He peered back in Severus' direction.

The Potions master inclined his head. "Indeed."

"Oh, and I don't want the two of you to give teaching a second thought today; I have already arranged for your classes to be covered. I would not have disturbed you yet, but I will be teaching your first two classes. Remus has kindly agreed to fill in on the last one." Severus snorted at that. Dumbledore regarded him over the top of his glasses with a twinkle in his eye. "I realize Potions isn't his forte, but he ought to be able to manage a first year class, don't you agree?" He turned to Hannah. "We will simply cancel your classes for the day, and let the students take a review period."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Hannah looked up at him with a determined expression. "I'm much better, and I'd honestly rather have something to keep me busy today. I will teach my normal schedule. "

"Very well, as you wish." He smoothed out his robes as he stepped to the door. "I shall see you both later."

Severus closed the door behind him and turned to Hannah with furrowed eyebrows. "Are you sure you are up to teaching?"

"The less time I have to think today, the better," she said distractedly. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with worry. "Isn't there something you can do? There is the _Quibbler_, isn't there? Could you talk to them?"

"You do realize that would have to include your testimony, don't you?"

She shrugged. "The news that Frank Hannigan's Squib daughter showed up as a witness will get around quickly enough. I would be surprised if the entire school doesn't know in a day or two. Someone's uncle or second-cousin-once-removed is sure to have attended the trial. But passing on gossip doesn't mean that they will include the information that you were exonerated. Not to mention that nowhere near as many people witnessed that part of the proceedings, since Father conveniently sent the audience out before that happened. – It couldn't hurt to try, could it?"

"Most people's opinions concerning me are quite set. I haven't the time to waste at the moment. As the Headmaster says, there are more pressing concerns."

Not to mention that the idea of trying to justify himself to a reporter and spending more time being gossiped about in public held no appeal whatsoever. He pursed his lips in distaste. Any article in the _Quibbler_ would just produce more counterpoint articles in the _Prophet _that would not at all be favorable. And the plain fact was that he hadn't been exonerated – the case had been dismissed. Not at all the same thing. No, better to let this go. It wasn't as if he had much of a reputation to lose in the first place, he thought with a bitter smirk.

He folded up the paper and tossed it on the armchair. "I should probably visit the mortuary first and get that out of the way. Then, there is the matter of my mother – if she is supposed to be released today, there are arrangements to be made. Returning to the house is out of the question; there is no way to assure her safety there. I suppose I had better call on my aunt, she might be willing to take her in for a while. It would probably be prudent to send her an owl, let her know to expect me..."

Hannah looked up at him, suddenly shy, not knowing what to do or say. What had happened only a quarter of an hour ago all of a sudden seemed far off in the distance as his mind was preoccupied with other things. "Well, I'd better go," she said awkwardly.

He nodded distractedly. "I suppose so. You will have things to prepare." Turning around, he walked over to the desk and opened the roll-top to retrieve quill, ink, and parchment. When he looked up a moment later she was still standing there, looking over at him expectantly. He raised his eyebrows. "Is there anything else?"

She shrugged. "Not really, I suppose." She actually had hoped for another kiss, but the look on his face didn't make that seem all that likely. Hannah sighed inwardly. Oh well. Maybe later. Impulsively, she took a few steps back over to him and put a hand on his arm. "Please watch out, Severus. It scares me to think of you out there with that lunatic still on the loose. I'll breathe easier once you are safely back."

For a moment, a hint of irritation flitted across his face, but then the lines around his eyes and mouth softened. "I will let you know when I return."

She smiled a lopsided half-smile and nodded. "Thank you. Until later, then?"

"Yes. Now, if you will excuse me?"

She nodded resignedly, stepped over to the fireplace, threw down a handful of Floo powder, and a moment later was gone in a flicker of green flame.

.-.-.-.

When Severus stepped out on the hearth at Whitechapel & Sons, the witch at the desk across the room stood up. Short grey hair, drooping eye-lids and pronounced under-eye bags, the corners of her mouth permanently pulled down – she looked like nothing so much as a sad bull-dog.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a solicitous voice.

"Am I speaking to Miss Whitechapel?"

"Gunila Whitechapel - yes, that would be me?"

"Severus Snape. I was told to come to you regarding arrangements for the burial of my father."

"Ah, yes." She opened a drawer and pulled out a file. "My father told me to expect you. – Augustus Snape, that would be, correct? So sorry for your loss. Quite tragic. Please have a seat."

Snape's lips tightened into a straight line as he sat down in the straight-backed chair in front of her. "I wish for a very simple burial. Nothing extravagant."

The solicitous attitude of the witch slipped marginally as she saw the Galleons evaporate before her eyes. She fought on gamely, though, and whipped out a color brochure and plopped it down in front of him.

"Our most popular package is the _Tempus Terminus. _It includes embalming services, an oak casket with a velvet lining in your choice of color, use of our chapel for a memorial service, a granite headstone charmed to…"

"None of that will be required. A simple graveside ceremony will suffice, as will the simplest casket in your inventory."

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but then changed her mind as she saw the forbidding expression on his face. With a huff, she bent down and opened the bottom drawer of her desk to retrieve a form. "One pine-box special coming up," he thought he heard her mutter as she straightened back up. His lip curled as he regarded her through lowered eyelids. His father deserved no better. And it wasn't as if he would know the difference anyways.

Fifteen minutes later he had filled out the necessary authorizations and forms.

"One more thing," the witch asked him as she stacked the papers neatly in front of her on the desk. "We are required to publish a short death notice in the _Prophet_, but if you would like a longer obituary we can write a simple one for you from the information you have given us, or you are of course free to write one of your own?" She looked at him questioningly.

Snape shook his head. "No." _The less in the paper, the better._

The witch sighed and stood up. "Very well. Now, I can take you back if you wish to see the deceased?"

Severus got up as well, a corner of his mouth turned down. He could not even stand to be around the man when he was alive; why would he want to visit his carcass? Yet he stood there for a moment, wavering, inexplicably undecided. Something stirred in the recesses of his being, disconcerting, if unrecognizable, and he found himself inclining his head in a curt nod.

"Follow me, then," she said.

He walked behind her down a flight of stairs into a short passageway that ended in a heavy mahogany door. The witch opened it with a flick of her wand; another flick, and the torches along the wall sprang to life.

"There you are, then. I will leave you alone; just come back up when you are finished. Again, I am so sorry for your loss," she said automatically as she closed the door behind her on the way out.

Cautiously, he advanced towards the dais in the middle of the room. His father's body was laid out on a white marble slab supported by two columns, preserved by a cooling charm, hands folded across his chest, looking solemn and pious in death.

Severus stepped over next to the table, and looked down on the face of the man he had hated for most of his life. Nothing, he thought, gave as much credence to the idea of a soul as the utter emptiness of a corpse. The face before him was waxen, still, and absolutely devoid of any semblance of life.

His father. It was strange to stand here. There was a cold feeling in his chest, but he couldn't decide why. His father had ceased to matter much in his life a long time ago. He certainly would not miss the man.

What had his father ever given him? Life, he supposed. A certain amount of shared genes. He only had to look into the mirror to remember that. His nose and his temper – those where an inheritance from his father. He snorted at that – now_ there_ was something to be thankful for, most certainly.

Virtually all the memories of his father were tucked in among the multitude of other memories he would rather forget. There was very little about the man he would actually _want_ to remember.

He fished around in the murky pond of memory for a moment, trying to dredge up something that was _good_, something he had shared with his father that didn't have a sting to it…

_He had been seven. His father had asked him into his study, and he had gone, wary, not knowing what to expect. When he got there, his father had told him to sit down at one side of the small table. "I am going to teach you," he had said, "how to play wizard chess. Go ahead, you may touch them." _

_In front of him, the board was set up – an elaborate pewter set, the beautifully detailed pieces mounted on bases of black and white onyx. He had run a small finger over the lines of the queen, a stately witch with a proud and haughty face, so exquisitely molded that he could make out the stars on the fabric of her pointed hat. _

"_This is how you play…" his father had said, and explained the rules. "You will use the white pieces. White starts the game." _

_He remembered how he had just about jumped out of his seat when one of his father's pawns – small gargoyles crouching on their bases, ready to spring – suddenly came to life and attacked his own, sweeping him off the board in a mighty swiping stroke of his taloned paw. _

_His father had laughed at his open-mouthed gasp of surprise, and he had laughed, too, at the sheer magic of it, and it had been the first time he could remember that they had laughed together. After that, no matter how bad things had been that day, they could go to the study and play the game and forget. The game became neutral ground._

That had lasted until he had been eight and had beaten his father for the first time. The fragile peace had been shattered as his father swept the board off the table in an angry gesture and stormed from the room. He hadn't wanted to play him any more after that.

Severus looked down at the waxen face below him. "I wonder, Father, if you knew then already that I would beat you at every game you ever played." His voice was hard. For years, his life had revolved around showing his father that he was better than he. A better student. A better duelist. A better potions brewer. A better Dark wizard. He smirked joylessly. "There were some games I would have been better off letting you win..."

Looking at the lifeless shell that had been his father, he knew it had been right to come. There were things, memories he could never forget, never forgive, but there was nothing left to hate _here_. There was no purpose in trying to shame these empty remains

As he looked down at the almost translucent eyelids, he remembered the way his father had died – the bulging eyes, the palpable fear; bound, voiceless, completely and utterly helpless as his wife became Pettigrew's puppet. And the pity he had felt then returned with the memory.

He slowly walked around the marble table. It had been his father's mistake to ask Pettigrew in as a houseguest…you cannot make your bed with rats and not expect to get bitten. He had known only too well what that wizard was capable of. But surely, he had never expected anything like this…

He took one last look and then turned on his heels and walked out the door and up the stairs.

He found the witch leaning back in her chair, slowly turning the pages of the magazine she was reading. She looked up as he entered the room. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Severus walked over and sat back down in the chair. "Let me talk to you about the arrangements again…"

* * *

Many thanks to Verity Brown and lalaluu for their beta touch.

Writing the chess scene reminded me of excessivelyperky's wonderful story "Midnight by the Weasley Watch" – I don't even play chess (I barely know the basic rules), and I still loved it. So check it out. It's on my favorites list.

The "emptiness of a corpse" line 'stuck' from something I read recently - it is not an exact quote, but I think it is very close to a line in "Children of God" by Mary Doria Russell. I used to be a nurse, and that is just exactly the feeling I would get when someone died.


	36. Fallout

That same morning, Peter Pettigrew, heavily cloaked and hooded, was pouring over the _Daily Prophet_ in the back corner of a dingy restaurant in Knockturn Alley, quietly stewing, as he had for the last hour.

The testimony was there, word for word, as he had told her. Saeran Snape had quite obviously performed to perfection – there was no hint that she had not stuck to the story they had prepared.

So what had happened? He was trying to read between the lines of the text, and still came up short.

Nothing in the paper told him what had gone wrong, exactly. And something most definitely had.

He looked around the room, almost empty at this time of day. At a round table near the front entrance, two witches were starting the day with warm butterbeer. They sat hunched together, cackling and jabbering over the open copy of the _Prophet_ in front of them. He walked up to the counter for another cup of coffee and then surreptitiously sat down at a table not too far from them. He might find out something of interest. Or so he hoped.

At first, there was nothing of note – disappointing chatter about the comparative attractiveness of the captains of the _Caerphilly Catapults_ and the _Holyhead Harpies_, and about bargains to be had at the going-out-of-business sale at _Siren Song Witchwear._

Peter was just about to roll his eyes and leave in disgust when the topic finally turned to what he was interested in. He pricked up his ears as the witch closest to him tapped a crimson-nailed finger on the page of the paper in front of her.

"Did ya see that? Ya gotta hand it to Snape, shady bloke though he is. Always good for a surprise. Did ya hear 'bout the Squib? Meg's old man watched Snape's trial yesterday. Came home and told us what happened. Snape's mum told this story, he says. Same one what's in the paper. And then Hannigan's daughter stands up.' I was there,' she says. And I'm a Squib. Couldn't 'a done it if I wanted to.' Could've knocked him over with a feather, he says.Hannigan was none to pleased."

"Couldn't have done what?" The other witch looked confused.

"Well, hex Snape's father, of course, when he got hisself knocked off. Nay, old Frank be none to pleased, for sure. Sent everyone out after that. Wouldn't 'a wanted that in print, would he, now? That they let Snape go 'cause of his own daughter?"

"A Squib?" The other witch grinned widely, revealing a missing front tooth. "How 'bout _that_? So, you think Snape really didn't do it?"

"Nah -just because _she_ didn't do it doesn't mean_ he_ didn't do it, now, does it?"

At that point, Peter sidled out of his seat and left the eatery. He had heard enough. Out in the alley, he leaned against the grimy stone wall and closed his eyes, hands balled into fists in frustration. A Squib. And Hannigan's daughter. So that was who Snape's 'friend' had been. And with the story he had concocted, he had handed them exactly what they needed to get Snape off again, hadn't he? He quietly cussed under his breath for a few minutes. _The worst luck he was having lately…_

He smirked bitterly – at least_ he_ had only failed once at getting Snape. This marked Hannigan's third attempt. And his daughter had dealt the death blow. How very ironic.

Hannigan. No, the man would not be too happy right now. Every bit as unhappy as Peter himself, he would wager.

How did that saying go again? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Peter absentmindedly picked a piece of loose mortar from a crack between the bricks and crushed it to a fine powder between the fingers of his silver hand. Yes indeed, he might be on to something there…

.-.-.-.

In the early afternoon, Severus stepped out of the public Floo at St. Mungo's and made his way up to the closed ward where Dumbledore had told him his mother was being kept out of the public eye.

The young Healer who admitted him to the ward was icily polite as she led him to the room at the back of the corridor. "In here," she said curtly as she pointed to a door with the number 17 on it in ornate silver letters. "I was not directly involved in her treatment, but I am told that the quite extensive spell damage has been repaired as much as possible. There are some memories she may never regain, but we have done all we can. The rest may or may not return with time. She is free to go on her own recognizance whenever she is ready. Please make sure to have her sign out at the front desk when she leaves." With a terse nod, the Healer left.

Severus hesitantly opened the door to the room. "Mother?"

Saeran Snape was standing by the window, looking out over the courtyard. She was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing to court – a simple, dark blue dress with blue stockings, and practical shoes. Her thin gray hair, usually pinned up in a knot at the back of her head, hung loosely down her back. When she turned her head to glance at her visitor, there was a lost look on her face.

He closed the door behind himself and slowly and carefully approached her. "It's Severus. Do you remember who I am?"

"They say that I killed him," she whispered, her eyes large in her fine-boned face. "Is that true?"

"You don't remember?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No. Did I?"

"You were not yourself. It wasn't your fault."

"They kept telling me that."

"They are right. There was nothing you could have done, and they are not accusing you of any crime. The Healer informs me you are free to go."

At that, her face crumpled and she walked over to him. He took her in his arms, and she leaned against him, her shoulders shaking as she quietly cried. It was several minutes before she straightened up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

"Where am I supposed to go? I can't go back to that…to that place." She shivered. "Do you know that I always hated that house? It is so dark, and it always seemed angry at me…"

He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. "You don't have to go back. I talked to your sister earlier today, and she would be more than happy for you to come and stay with her. Going back would not be at all safe for you."

"Anwyn? I can go to Anwyn's house?" Her face started to quiver again. "I haven't seen her in so long. – Severus, he is really dead, isn't he?"

Her son swallowed hard. "Yes. He is really dead."

"I can leave now. I can go where I want to?"

He nodded. "Yes."

A tremulous smile slowly crept across her face. "That will be nice." She looked up at him, and the smile slowly faded. "There are some things I remember. I remember this short wizard. Your father knew him. He hurt you, I think."

"He did. But I'm fine now."

Saeran looked up at him, tears spilling from the corner of her eyes unheeded, running quietly over her anguished face. "I remember what happened yesterday. I said terrible things about you. I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Mother."

"You could have gone to Azkaban, Severus; they could have killed you. It was good that the girl was there."

"Yes."

"What is her name again?"

"Hannah."

"Hannah…she was kind to me. She's a Squib, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"How sad for her…"

Severus' lips briefly pinched together, but he didn't say anything as he took her coat off a hook by the door. "I think we had better go."

"I need to sleep. They didn't let me sleep very much last night. I think I would feel better if I had some sleep. I'm so tired."

"Let's go then, Mother." He carefully placed the coat across her shoulders, and directed her out the door.

.-.-.-.

It was after nine o'clock in the evening when there finally was a knock on the door of Hannah's quarters.

She jumped up from the sofa, where she had been sitting reading a book, and went to open the door.

"You're back." She smiled her relief at Severus. "How are you? How is your mother?" She stepped back to let him come in from the dark corridor. "Come and sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea or something to eat? You look so tired…" A tight feeling lodged in her throat as she looked up at him – there was that grey, pinched quality to his face that let her know that he was exhausted.

"I _am_ tired." He took off his cloak, folded it, and hung it across the back of a chair. "If you don't mind, I think I will take you up on that cup of tea, and then go to bed."

She busied herself at the stove while he sat down. "I have this almond herbal tea, would that be all right? It is getting late."

"That's fine. Even though, to tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind something stronger if you have it."

"I have a decent single-malt, will that do?"

"Admirably."

"Ice or water?"

"Nothing, thank you. Just plain."

A couple minutes later, she handed him a squat, clear glass tumbler with a finger's breadth of whisky and sat down next to him, cradling her teacup in her hands. "So how is your mother?"

"Shaken and distraught, and not quite herself yet, but she will be all right. She's at her sister's – it would have been folly to return her to the house after all that has happened there. It is fortunate that she cannot actually remember killing my father. She would not, I believe, be able to cope with the actual memories at the moment. "

"I'm glad for that, really. Those memories would be horrible to live with." She shuddered at her own remembrance of the events. "Simply knowing what she did must be hard enough. –Will she be able to stay there? At your aunt's, I mean?"

"As long as she wants, yes."

"That must be a relief."

He appreciatively sipped his whisky and nodded. Yes, it was a relief to have her safely settled. He did not think that Pettigrew would bother with her any more, now that she had outlived her usefulness. And she should be far enough out of the way – Anwyn's place, located in a remote valley in Wales, was not easy to find. She should be safe out there. As safe as she would be anywhere.

"Did everything go well here?" he asked Hannah.

She shrugged. "It went fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. I missed breakfast, of course, but I heard that the headmaster made a speech admonishing everyone not to give credence to everything they read in the paper. So even thought the rumor mill is grinding away quite nicely, the majority of students seems inclined to at least give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Did he mention your role in this at all?"

"No, I guess not." Her smile was a bit forced. "I almost wish he would have. Get it over with."

"You aren't the only Squib at Hogwarts…"

"Filch? He is universally despised by the entire student body, as well as by half the staff. If that was supposed to be encouraging, try again." She stood up and took her cup over to the sink. "So, did you get everything taken care of? With your father?"

He nodded again, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "The ceremony will be three days from now, on Sunday."

She sat back down close to him, her body turned to face him. "I haven't had the chance to tell you yet how sorry I am. To lose your father like that must be so completely horrible."

"No sympathy is necessary or required. To say that we were not particularly close would be an understatement."

Hannah was still for a moment. "You know I despise my father. But if I would have to see him die like that, it would still hurt. He _is_ my father, after all. There are these memories I have, from when I was little, before he, well,_ knew_ – we would go on picnics at the park, all three of us. I remember he played battledores with me in the garden in the summer – the shuttlecock would scream bloody murder every time one of us got in a good whack. It was pretty funny." She smiled. "As long as my mother was around, there was a good memory for every bad one. Not like now."

Severus tossed back the last of his whisky, set down his glass, and stood up. He walked a few steps and stopped, his back to her.

"That is all very well," he said sharply. "I, in contrast, have wished my father gone so many times over the years that I have lost count. So please spare me any further attempts at unnecessary commiseration."

"I beg your pardon. It will not happen again." There was a tinge of sharpness to her voice, too.

He didn't answer, and a few seconds later he heard her get up and walk up behind him. "Look, Severus, all I am trying to do is help. If I am clumsy, please forgive me. I just thought that maybe it would help you to talk about..."

"Talk about what? My father?" he interrupted her, spinning around to face her. "Why would I want to talk about him? You have seen my mother – she is fragile. They were Bound. He would not let her leave. I figured out when I was very young that the only way to protect her was to draw his anger away from her towards me. He was never a very patient man, nor a kind one. But that chapter is closed now. And no, I don't have the least desire to talk about it."

He turned away again angrily, staring at a spot on the wall.

_I almost fire-called instead of coming here to let you know I was back_, he thought_. But I saw my dead father's body today, and it is too late for anything to ever be any different. I have almost the whole of the wizarding world looking at me with suspicion and hate. My mother doesn't remember how she killed him, but she knows enough to fall apart on me more than once today. Then my aunt kept asking me all these infernal questions, making me retell how he died, and about Pettigrew, and how I was chained to a chair in front of the crowd – and for my mother's sake, I had to be civil and answer. And I am still aching all over, and I am tired, and I am full of these damnable emotions that keep poking up their ugly heads every time I relax even a little. And for some strange, unfathomable reason you don't mind touching me, and that is why I am here. And I don't want to talk. _

When he felt her hands on his back, starting to gently massage the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders, he closed his eyes, still half resentful, half welcoming the touch.

"It's been a long day for you," she offered in a quiet voice. "A hard day."

For a while, they stood silently, both stuck in the awkwardness of the moment. His eyes felt dry and hot behind his eyelids as her fingers kneaded for a few more minutes, finding the knots and working them out carefully. He winced slightly as she found a particularly tender one.

"I'm sorry." She eased the pressure of her fingers, working the area more gently.

He shook his head. "No. You did nothing wrong."

Her hands slid down and around his waist, and she leaned her head against his back. He wondered if she knew how effective a gesture that was – not having to look at her, and yet feeling her arms around him, warm and reassuring.

"Over time, I will learn," she said softly, "what will help and what will hurt. You will just have to be patient with me."

At that, he finally turned around in her arms and looked down at her. "_I_? Patient with _you_?"

When Hannah looked up at him, her breath hitched in her throat at his expression. There was a hollow, aching look to him that made her chest feel tight, his eyes dark with the pain of the last two days, with anguish, disbelief, and unmet need, as for once, he let her see, the impenetrable mask he wore so often gone for now.

_Oh, Severus... _To see that look, that awful look, and not try to do anything about it seemed an unsupportable thing.

Still looking into his eyes, she stretched up, balancing on the balls of her feet, at the same time reaching up with one hand and pulling him in towards her until their noses touched, his face so close to hers she couldn't focus her eyes on him any more. She nuzzled him gently, then rubbed her cheek against his, sandpapery and rough against her skin. Softly, lightly, she kissed first his temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Through all this, as she wordlessly tried to communicate comfort to him, to tell him that he was wanted, cared for, desired, he held still, eyes now closed, simply letting her.

It wasn't until she pressed her lips gently against his mouth that he responded, swiftly and suddenly, his arms wrapping around her tightly, too tightly, pulling her close against him.

When he kissed her back, it was with a hungry, almost desperate intensity that didn't ease up for several minutes, leaving her carried away on a wave of emotion, clinging to him breathlessly and half-crying as he finally took a deep, almost sobbing breath and buried his face against her neck.

.-.-.

When he Flooed back to his quarters later that evening, she curled back up on the sofa, smiling a lopsided, teary smile. For someone who didn't want to talk, he had talked quite a bit, his face against her neck and hair, the words coming in spurts as if he had wanted to hold them back and just couldn't. She hadn't done much other than hold him and listen, occasionally making appropriate noises, one hand rubbing circles against the small of his back.

How many times, she wondered, could her heart break for him?

She got up, quickly washed the glass and cup, and then retreated to her bedroom.

She didn't have the heart to be angry at the frail, older-than-her-years woman she had seen in court yesterday, but his short, abrupt, sketchy phrases had painted a picture that made tears come to her eyes, tears for a little boy forced into a parent's role, protecting his mother when she should have been protecting him. _I had people who watched over me through the years, _she thought_. First my mother, then Filius. _Was there ever anyone who had protected him? It sure didn't seem like it.

When she turned out the light, she settled down on the pillows and pulled the blanket up to her neck. Remembering last night made her arms ache for him. It just seemed so wrong to be sleeping alone tonight.

She threw her arm over her eyes and willed herself to relax. It just wouldn't be, in his words, 'proper'.

Still, sleep would be a long time coming tonight.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I appreciate everything you have to say and all the time you have invested so far into reading this story. Many thanks to lalaluu and Verity Brown for beta reading for me – your input makes this so much better! 


	37. The Funeral

Two days later, Hannah sat on the sofa in her sitting room, trying to read a book, but finding that she could pay absolutely no attention.

Yesterday had been dismal. She should have known, of course, that there would be some sort of backlash for what she was sure Severus considered his 'deplorable loss of emotional containment', or something along those lines.

She snorted. Good heavens, between the murder, the torture, the trial, the funeral arrangements, the newspaper article, and the needs of his mother most other people would have been reduced to quivering puddles of misery. She certainly had fallen apart quite nicely the first evening after the trial. Yet somehow he seemed to think that he should just buck up and bear it.

All day he had been impeccably polite, which she was learning to interpret as a bad sign. He _had _come to see her in the evening, but kept a carefully observed distance. Every cautious advance she had made had been coolly and courteously rebuffed. By the end of the evening he had unbent enough to kiss her – a chaste peck on the lips as he left.

Hannah sighed. She should consider it a step forward, really. Any kiss was better than no kiss. It was just that once you had been kissed, well…_ that_ way, the little peck, which would have left her ecstatic even a week ago, wasn't nearly so satisfying any more.

Oh well. She was sure this would blow over soon enough.

He was on hall duty this evening, so she knew he would not be able to stop by for long. Quite possibly a good thing, since his mood earlier that day had not been the best.

It had been the day of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch game, and Ginny Weasley and her team had completely and utterly trounced the poor badgers – with the result that Slytherin and Gryffindor were now virtually tied for points, even though Severus' house had pulled out a narrow victory over Ravenclaw a few weeks earlier. Really, she thought, the whole scoring system was incredibly unfair, the way that even a team that had won all its matches could still lose the Quidditch Cup on points. Now everything would depend on the last two games at the end of the year.

When he knocked, she opened quickly, and was greeted with, "I won't be able to stay for long." Her lips twitched.

"Come on in. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you." He sat down on the couch.

"Sorry about the game…" Hannah offered cautiously.

He snorted. "Well, yes, that. It doesn't matter. We will, after all, play Hufflepuff next, while Gryffindor will have to contend with the Ravenclaws. It should be no contest. I am not in the least concerned." Hannah was about to ask him what the seven-days-of-rainy-weather look after the game had been about, then, but wisely changed her mind.

"Everything quiet out there?"

"The usual. I chased a couple of fifth years off the Astronomy Tower and sent a group of raucous Gryffindors to their common room. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Good…"

For a while, it was quiet. Then Hannah cleared her throat. "I have been meaning to ask you – did your mother ever say anything about what happened to our things? Your wand, and my… things?"

Severus shook his head. "She can't remember much from that day. I assume it's possible Pettigrew still has the wands, even though I think it is more likely that he destroyed them. He would not really want to carry around evidence against himself. I certainly do not entertain any hope that we will ever see them again."

"I suppose so," Hannah said in a small voice, looking down.

"That wand…it had value to you, I believe?" His voice was much softer now.

She nodded. "It was my mother's. Filius was one of the first to arrive after she died, and he picked it up. There was no evidence to be gained from it, and so he kept it. He knew how much it would mean to me, and I suppose he had a pretty shrewd idea of how little my father really thought about me. Father never knew I had it; I kept it hidden well away when he was around. It was presumed lost in battle. I told you I only had one thing of hers. That wand was it."

At the strained note in her voice, Severus lifted up his arm, and she took it as the invitation that it was, and snuggled against his shoulder with a sigh.

"I am sorry," he murmured against her hair.

"It is all right, really. It's not like I will forget her without it," she said, her cheek rubbing against the wool of his robe. "I would have liked to have it back, but…" Her voice trailed off. "Really, it's all right."

He held her for a moment longer, and then lightly squeezed her shoulders with his arm and got up. "Time to get back to rounds, I fear."

Hannah walked to the door with him. "One more thing I wanted to ask you. I would like to come to the funeral tomorrow, if you don't mind."

He turned around abruptly, the frown line back in place. "I don't see why you would. Surely there must be more pleasant ways to spend a Sunday afternoon? It is not like you even knew him."

"I know_ you_," she offered quietly.

"I will have duties to attend to."

"I know that, Severus. I'm not expecting to be entertained. You'll want to be with your family, of course. I would just like to come to the ceremony, and then I'll go back with Flitwick."

Severus had informed her the evening before (with considerable chagrin) that Dumbledore had insisted on a certain number of Order members attending the funeral. According to the headmaster, the funeral would be a perfect opportunity for an ambush, and the Order members would patrol the area beforehand and then stay to make sure nothing disturbed the ceremony. In the end, Severus had been forced to agree.

"…But if you don't want me to come, that is fine. Really," she said.

He thought for a moment before he finally nodded. "If you wish, you may come."

She reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Thank you."

When he left, the kiss goodbye wasn't quite as chaste as the one from the evening before. _Progress_, Hannah thought as she closed the door behind him with a smile. _We are definitely making progress._

.-.-.-.

The small group of mourners huddled miserably under their umbrellas next to the open grave. Severus alone stood unprotected from the elements, the rain running in small rivulets down his face, dripping from his nose and hair as he stood with his head slightly bent forward.

He was glad to not have to perform master-of-ceremonies duties – since Dumbledore had made it clear that he would be there no matter what, he had hesitantly asked the old wizard if he would consent to lead the ceremony for the interment, and the Headmaster had unhesitatingly agreed.

The funeral was far from well-attended. There was his mother, hanging onto his arm on one side and that of her sister Anwyn, who was holding the umbrella, on the other. Severus looked grimly at his aunt – he supposed she had come to support her sister. For as long as he could remember, the nosy witch with the strident voice had made her disapproval of his father crystal clear. Later, when Severus had wandered further and further down the path of Darkness, she had transferred that disapproval to him, and in spite of his mother's best efforts over the years, their relationship had never recovered. She still considered him far more his father's son than his mother's. Not that it had in practicality mattered much; his father had made sure that any visits by the few surviving relatives were extremely sporadic. There was no other member of the family attending.

On one side, he saw Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, and Emmeline Vance standing shoulder to shoulder, quiet and somber. There had been too many funerals over the last few years: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, the two oldest Weasley brothers, even harmless, silly Dedalus Diggle – the surviving Order members had stood around graves and crypts too many times. Severus, at first still under cover, and then too ill after the last battle, had not attended any of them. Just one more reason, he thought, why he had never fully become part of that group.

Hannah stood next to Flitwick, unobtrusively in the back.

Casting a short look at her from the corner of his eye, he decided that he was glad that he had let her come. It felt a bit like having your back to a rock during a battle, he thought. The rock didn't have to do anything; just the fact that it was there made you feel like your situation was more defensible.

Other than that, there were two representatives from Whitechapel & Sons, and less than a handful of assorted other witches and wizards he didn't recognize – business associates of his father's, he supposed. None of them looked particularly saddened by the loss.

Looking around the group of mourners, he couldn't suppress a smirk. He could only imagine what his father would have said had he known that the 'mourners' at his funeral would include a Squib, a werewolf, and the man who had organized the Dark Lord's downfall.

At that, his eyes were drawn back to the front, where Dumbledore had just finished a short address, keeping to a basic biography and very general themes of the sanctity and beauty of all life. It was more than obvious to Severus that the headmaster had failed miserably at finding anything positive to say about the deceased. Not that he could blame him for that failure – Severus had actually been more than glad to be able to hand off that task to someone else.

At a nod from Dumbledore, the four designated bearers – Lupin, Flitwick, Severus, and the headmaster himself – stepped out and took up position on the four corners of the gleaming oak casket, heads bowed. A word, and they each took a step back, presenting their wands, wand arm stretched out straight in front of them. Another short word, and the wands lowered, and then raised slowly, in unison, the casket rising along with them. Slowly, solemnly, the four wizards moved in step until they stood at the four corners of the grave, the casket hovering in perfect alignment between them. For a moment they held position. Then they slowly brought their wands back down, and the casket settled gently, without the slightest jar, into the bottom of the grave.

Dumbledore turned and pulled Augustus Snape's wand – returned two days ago with the rest of his belongings the Ministry had confiscated in anticipation of the trial – from his pocket and formally, with both hands, presented it to Severus.

He accepted it gravely, with a bow of the head. For a moment he stood, bowed, holding his father's wand. He took a deep breath, and then the slender rod, controlled by his own wand, floated high up into the air above the grave, turning gracefully in the gently falling rain.

At an almost imperceptible nod from him, the others again raised their wands. Saeran turned and hid her face against her sister's shoulder. Beams of white shot out from the tips, and Augustus Snape's wand erupted in a bright, blinding light, vanishing with a loud thunderclap, leaving only a shower of glittering white sparks that continued to rain down on the group of mourners for more than a minute afterwards.

As Albus stepped back, Severus walked over to the pile of earth next to the grave, and picked up a clod of soggy clay. He dropped it into the grave, where it hit the lid of the casket with a resounding thud.

"Earth to Earth, dust to dust," he murmured and then stepped back, watching as each of the mourners did the same.

Then all that was left was for him and his mother to stand together and receive handshakes and condolences. A farce, of course, but a custom that needed to be observed.

"Thank you for coming," he murmured mechanically as each person came up to him. When he looked over and saw Hannah next in line, he had a sudden surge of panic. He simply could not abide public displays of affection, and for a moment he had visions of her throwing herself around his neck or otherwise reacting emotionally and impetuously. He needn't have worried. She just stretched out her hand, and he shook it, and she said, "I am so sorry," and he said, "Thank you for coming," and it surprised him to no end how he could read her face and see her eyes ask, "Are you all right?" and answer with a lowering of his eyelids that yes, he was, and how he could see that she had understood him by the small smile that flitted across her face. It was almost as if he could suddenly speak a secret language. He quickly dropped her hand as he realized he was holding on to it just a fraction too long.

With an effort, Hannah turned away and stepped over to his mother. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Snape," she said, offering her hand. Saeran took it, but didn't let go.

"You are Hannah, are you not? Frank Hannigan's daughter? I saw you in court?"

Hannah blushed. "I'm afraid that's so."

"I thought I recognized you. I wanted to thank you for what you did for me and my son. We owe you a debt."

Hannah shook her head. "No such debt exists. He would have done the same."

At that, Saeran gave her a weak smile. "Would you care to join us for supper? We have reservation at the _Dancing Dragon _after the ceremony, but I am sure it would be no problem to fit another person...?"

With a quick sideways glance, Hannah checked Severus' face, and at the tell-tale frown line between his eyebrows regretfully shook her head. "I'm afraid I will be unable to take you up on that kind offer, as I have previous commitments."

Saeran finally let go of her hand. "We will have to meet some other time, under more pleasant circumstances, then."

"That would be nice." With a smile, Hannah inclined her head and stepped away. Severus saw her leave with Flitwick shortly thereafter.

.-.-.-.

Seated at a table in a small, private back room at the _Dancing Dragon,_ Severus was wishing he could just make himself scarce and go back to Hogwarts. Anwyn was doing her usual bit, digging and prying into what was none of her business.

"So tell me, Severus, why did you take her to the house in the first place?"

"She is a friend," he answered tersely.

"Is that so? Why does that sound so unlikely?" Anwyn looked a Severus with the corners of her mouth turned down. "A Squib. How does that fit into your former associates' philosophy, I wonder? A Squib - that is barely better than a Muggle, as far as they are concerned, isn't it? Possibly even worse?"

"Anwyn, really, I don't think…" Saeran said, with a worried look at Severus, whose features had grown stiff and cold.

"Oh, come on, Saeran. So he brings home this woman who is the daughter of one of his worst enemies, not particularly pretty, and a _Squib. _Pardon me if I am wondering what exactly his interest in her is."

Severus had gotten up, his hands balled into fists within the folds of his robe.

"She is also one of the kindest, most loyal people that I know. I consider myself fortunate to have made her acquaintance. And now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to…"

He made to leave before Anwyn could wag her sharp tongue yet again. To his surprise, he saw a grim grin spread over her face instead.

"Oh, sit back down, you big sod. I didn't mean anything by it. I'll shut my gob now. Mind you, I never thought I would see the day when I'd hear you champion the virtues of a _Squib. – _Maybe the leopard can change his spots after all, hm?"

He shook his head in bewilderment as he took a seat again. His mother had tried for years and years, telling her about his stellar record at Hogwarts, about being trusted by Dumbledore, about how unhappy his father had been with him, even about his medical research…nothing had convinced her.

And now this.

Witches. He would never understand them.

* * *

Aiden2, yes, you are right about her age. She is almost five years younger than Severus; her mother was killed when she was 13. 


	38. Potatoes

A few days later, Severus stepped out on the hearth of Hannah's fireplace again.

He had taken to Flooing instead of walking (which normally was his preferred method of getting around the castle; he had never much cared for the disorienting sensation of Floo travel) to cut down on the possibility of being seen entering her quarters. The rumor mill, as Hannah had said, was grinding away quite nicely. Over the last few days, the news of what had happened in court had slowly traveled throughout the school.

With it had come the looks. Severus was used to them from the last time he had prominently featured in the _Daily Prophet_ – but now the same types of glances were cast in Hannah's direction.

In the hall, he would hear snippets of conversations, conversations that immediately stopped as students became aware of his presence. The owls must have been busy – more than one student seemed to have relatives that had attended the trial.

"Yup, she's a Squib…"

"What was she doing at Snape's house, anyways?"

"He'd be in Azkaban…"

"_You don't think…?"_

At meals, they would look from him to her and back again while talking behind their hands. He was more than careful to not do anything to encourage the conclusions being draw. All that the students (and most of the staff members) could see was a polite nod as he passed her, maybe a courteous phrase exchanged here and there, the way he would with any other teacher. Right now, they were both in the fishbowl, closely watched. It would not do at all to encourage the gossips.

Hannah was sitting on the sofa, her arms wrapped around her legs, forehead resting on her knees. She looked up at him as the green flames died down.

"Hello, Severus," she said in a small voice.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Yeah." The tone of her voice was not at all convincing. He sat down on the sofa next to her.

"Your demeanor suggests otherwise."

With a tired sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm fine. Really, I am. It's just…" Her voice trailed off.

"Just what?"

"Your Slytherins are driving me batty." She pushed the words out in a rush. "Well, some of them, anyways. The Ravenclaws don't really care, the Hufflepuffs are sweetly sympathetic, and the Gryffindors think that it's all quite funny, but they'll make a joke and get on with the work. Whereas a good percentage of the Slytherins seems to think that since I am a Squib, they don't have to listen to me any more. They weren't too thrilled with such a 'Mugglish' subject in the first place, but now… one of them even told me that he 'wouldn't learn no more writing crap from a dumb Squib.'" Her eyes flashed indignantly.

"So," he asked, eyebrows raised, "what did you do?"

"Took ten points from Slytherin, and gave him detention with Filch," she said defiantly. "And I'm not sorry, either." She gave him a mutinous look, as if expecting him to argue.

"And did that solve the problem?"

"It seemed to. For the moment."

He nodded, satisfied. "Good. Just keep doing that. They'll get the idea soon enough."

She looked up at him. "You're not mad?"

His eyebrows drew together. "Why should I be? You have every right to punish an insolent student, be he from my house or not. The kind of behavior you describe is unacceptable." _Even though five points would have done, really… _

With a soft sigh, she let out a breath. "Well, I'm glad to hear you say _that_."

"What did you think I would say?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. You're very protective of them."

"They're my responsibility. These students will often be distrusted or considered tainted simply because they were sorted into Slytherin. Later in life, there may be doors closed to them for the same reason, unless their families are powerful enough to counter those assumptions. So yes, I am protective. That _doesn't_ mean a student should get away with actual misconduct."

"Well, I don't like it."

"Don't like what?" he asked sharply.

"Taking points. Assigning detentions. That sort of thing."

"Slytherins respect strength. You keep showing it to them, and they'll fall in line soon enough."

"I suppose," she said. "But I don't like the atmosphere it creates in the classroom."

"The students don't have to like you to learn from you."

"I suppose you're right…." Her voice trailed off.

"I would offer to talk to them, but it would not be to your benefit. As I said, Slytherins appreciate strength. Someone else, even I as their Head of House, fighting your battles for you would undermine instead of strengthen your position." _Not to mention that it would provide the rumor mill with a whole new load of fodder._

"I know. That is why I haven't asked you." She sighed. "I suppose this too shall pass, hm?"

He briefly rested his chin against her hair. "I can't promise anything, of course, but my experience is that once you reestablish your authority, you will not have any more problems."

Hannah looked up at him with a chagrined smirk. "Easy for you to say," she muttered. He and McGonagall somehow managed to exude authority from every pore of their bodies. It didn't come anywhere near as naturally for her. Oh well. Enough of that unpleasant subject.

"So." Her smile turned teasing. "What house would _I_ have been sorted into if I would have gone to Hogwarts, do you think?"

He gave her an appraising look, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well?" she asked. "What's the verdict?"

He gave a short nod as if he had reached a conclusion. "Hufflepuff," he said with conviction. "Definitely Hufflepuff."

"Hey!" She punched him lightly in the arm. "I think I might have scraped out a Ravenclaw."

He caught her wrist in his hand, and regarded her solemnly. "I suppose there might have been a small chance...a _very _small chance…" Though his tone was completely serious, the slight crinkling around the corners of his eyes gave him away.

"Oh, you…!" She didn't get to finish her sentence as he bent forward and kissed her full on the mouth. As he released her wrist, her hand went around his neck, and neither of them had a chance to talk again for quite a while after that.

.-.-.-.

The end of March came, and with it the Easter holiday. No teaching for a blessed, glorious two weeks. Hannah never would have thought she would be so glad to just forget about her students for a while. During term time, their time together was so limited – Severus was a lot busier than she was, with Head of House duties on top of a full class schedule. The busyness of the end of spring term had done nothing to help the situation. Sometimes days would go by where she did not see him at all except for glimpses at meal times. And those were less than satisfying.

"Could you come for dinner tomorrow?" she asked Severus when she saw him in the Hall after he had seen off those of the Slytherins who were going home Friday night. "I haven't cooked in ages. You could come up early and keep me company while I get things ready."

She had invited him before, and been curtly reminded that their absence at dinner would give rise to suspicion – especially Severus, as a Head of House, was expected to be present at the dinner table. For both of them to be absent at the same time would most certainly cause a few raised eyebrows.

But during holidays, there was a lot more coming and going, and at any given meal a third or more of the staff would be absent as they ran errands, visited friends and family, or simply decided to spend a quiet evening in their rooms.

"Please?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

To her relief, he smiled briefly and nodded. "Would around five be convenient?"

"Perfect."

.-.-.

At five o'clock sharp the next day, he arrived in front of her quarters. He had deemed it worth taking the risk of walking instead of Flooing. Somehow, this was different from their usual impromptu meetings for a cup of tea. This felt suspiciously like an actual date. After checking the hallway to make sure no one was watching, he knocked on her door

When she opened, she looked as nervous as he felt. He pulled the bottle of wine out from where he had kept it out of sight within the folds of his robe, and she beckoned him in. Behind her, he could see the small table set to perfection, with beautiful china, gleaming crystal goblets, and starched white napkins. A candle stood in the center of the table, waiting to be lit.

She walked back to the kitchen area and motioned to a chair near the counter. "Have a seat and talk to me while I get things ready." A pot of rich broth was already simmering on the stove. An assortment of vegetables was laid out on the counter.

Hannah picked up a knife, and started in on a large onion. "How good are you at household charms?" she asked Severus, motioning towards the pungent bulb while starting to sniffle from the sharp fumes. "I could use a Nofleo Charm right about now."

"I can't say I have much experience, but I'll give it a try." He drew his wand out of his sleeve and pointed it at the onion, muttering the incantation. "There, better?"

"Much," she said with a grin as the stinging disappeared from her eyes and the smell of onion dissipated. "You know, you do come in handy sometimes."

He smirked in response. "Always glad to be of service."

"How did you learn? Did you help your mother in the kitchen?"

He shook his head. "No. My father believed that the kitchen was no place for a boy. And it has been Hogwarts food for most of the rest of my life. I just picked up a few things along the way, so don't set your expectations too high." The little he knew about domestic spells had come as a side effect of having been around Molly Weasley when she wielded her wand in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. It wasn't much; he had never stayed for meals while Sirius was alive, and only very rarely after Harry had inherited the house.

He got up and took a few steps over to where she was working.

"Can I help with anything else?" he asked.

She looked at him doubtfully.

"I think I'm more than qualified to cut up a vegetable or two," he said with slight irritation. Cutting things up was, after all, part and parcel of his daily job description.

"Do you think you could peel and dice the potatoes?" She pointed to two tubers sitting on the other side of the L-shaped counter that made up the small kitchen row. "That would help."

"I believe I might just be able to manage that," he answered, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

Hannah laughed. "All right, then, here you go," she said as she handed him a knife and a cutting board.

"How big do you want the pieces?"

She held up her thumb and index finger. "About this big?"

After that, they worked in silence for a few minutes, both bent over their work. Hannah sliced up some carrots, then chopped some parsley. All the pieces went into the big, steaming, cast-iron pot merrily bubbling away on the old stove. She was just about to ask him how the potatoes were coming when he turned around, cutting board in hand.

"Where do you want them?"

Hannah's mouth opened slightly. "Oh…" she said weakly as she looked at the board he was holding out to her. He looked up sharply at the exclamation.

The corners of her mouth seemed to have developed a peculiar twitch. He looked down at the product of his labors. The board was covered with a single layer of perfectly even cubes, a uniform quarter inch on each side, exactly the size she had indicated. If he had set one of his students this assignment, he would have found nothing to fault.

"Is something wrong?" he asked pointedly.

"Not at all. It's…_ perfect._" The corners of her mouth twitched even more.

Hannah looked up from those impossibly perfect, precision-cut potato cubes into the disgruntled face of Hogwarts' Potions master, still staring at the potatoes in consternation, and felt herself melt.

Quickly, she reached up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I love you," she said, before taking the potatoes from him and adding them to the pot, smiling as she turned back to the stove.

She heard him clear his throat behind her. "What was that for?" he asked, still sounding cross.

She just shook her head lightly - she was fairly sure that trying to explain the words "adorably grumpy" to him was a losing proposition.

Behind her, Severus stood completely at a loss.

The fact was that he had never considered that this would lead anywhere. It had been his expectation that one day, sooner rather than later, she would wake up and realize that she was in a relationship with a disagreeable, bad-tempered, unattractive Ex-Death Eater, and that would be that.

Her friendship he felt sure about – he could not account for the way she had acted towards him over the last few months in any other way. Friendship was one thing though, and the kisses had come as a most unexpected gift – he had not been about to look a gift horse in the mouth. But he had never supposed…

But now, with the words she had spoken, no matter how off-handedly, his supposition about the imminent demise of her – crush? Infatuation? – had gone out the window entirely. The language she had been using lately seemed to indicate that as far as she was concerned, she was in this for the long haul. And in the circles they had grown up in, those three words began an expected sequence of events that ended in a natural conclusion.

The thought made his stomach lurch, and with it came the feeling of standing at the edge of an abyss. Yet the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant…

A small smile played around the corners of his mouth.

"Well, the soup should be done in about twenty minutes or so," Hannah said briskly as the seconds of silence stretched, before turning to wash her hands in the sink. "I'm going to get the steaks ready. Would you mind opening the wine? I wouldn't mind a glass…"

He turned gratefully to occupy himself with the bottle and the corkscrew, glad that that moment was over.

_.-.-.-_

With fast, noiseless strides, Severus walked back down towards the dungeons, thoughts running through his head at a mile a minute.

The rest of the evening had gone pleasantly enough, as they talked and laughed while they ate first the soup and then steaks, twice-baked potatoes, and a green salad. Yet Severus was only too aware that her words had thrown off the comfortable equilibrium that had existed.

He cussed inwardly when the staircase he was on picked that moment to swing up and off to the side, depositing him two floors up from where he had wanted to go. Just lovely.

He stopped to get his bearings and then headed down the corridor to his left. After a while, he became aware of voices as his long steps carried him closer and closer to two people walking in front of him.

One of them was the petulant voice of Professor Nequam, the Ancient Runes mistress, one of the faculty members he had the least use for. To him, Nequam always looked like a molting bird – grayish, slightly disheveled, with bits and pieces out of place at all times. She was walking deep in conversation with Stella Sinistra. The two witches obviously hadn't caught on to his presence behind them just yet.

"…so what do you think, _are_ they an item?" Nequam asked.

"Maybe they're just friends."

"Stella, don't be naïve. He took her home to the parents, hm?"

Sinistra sighed. "I suppose. I've had my suspicions for a while now. The way they disappeared from his birthday party…"

Nequam snorted. "Well, they say there's a lid for every pot. I've got to say, though, that's about the oddest match I can imagine. Wonder what she sees in him. I mean, she's certainly not after him for his money or good looks."

Sinistra was keeping quiet.

"If this were anyone else, I'd say it must be his personality. But this is _Snape_ we're talking about," Nequam added with a snorting laugh.

"Oh, come now," Sinistra said placatingly. "He isn't such a bad sort, really. There's worse wizards out there."

"I suppose so. And then, she_ is_ a Squib. What can she really expect? If she wants to catch a wizard, she'll _have_ to go fishing in the discard pile…"

"Now wait a minute," Sinistra interrupted sharply. "I don't think that is a very nice thing to say."

"Oh come off it, Stella. How would you like to wake up to that face every morning? I mean really, who would? Personally, if I had to make a choice among Hogwarts' eligible bachelors, I'd go for Lupin. At least he only turns into a snarling, biting thing once a month at predetermined times. Snape can manage that at the drop of a hat."

"That's enough." Sinistra pulled herself up straight. "If he likes her and vice versa, that's no skin off my nose. They're both adults. Stuff it, Nettie."

"All right, I'll be quiet, then," Nequam said in a conciliatory tone as the two witches rounded a corner. "I almost forgot – you're Slytherin, too, aren't you? And you're right, I suppose – he must have his good sides; after all, in the war…"

Their voices faded out as Severus leaned against the wall and let them move out of sight, his lips pinched together tightly. Thoughts of all sorts of unpleasant potions that could find their way into Nequam's morning pumpkin juice were running through his head. But truth be told, those same attitudes were what he could expect from others – in less offensive terms, maybe, but the same questions. He only had to look in the mirror to acknowledge that there was a basis for her point of view. What exactly _was_ it that Hannah saw in him?

Then he straightened back up and turned around to find an alternate route to the dungeons. He had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

A/N: Nequam is channeling an old head nurse I had the non-pleasure to train under. Schwester Hilda looked a lot like that and sounded _exactly_ like that. She took the greatest pleasure in ripping apart her colleagues behind their backs, especially any romantic attachments that might have formed, and, if someone should call her on it, would do a quick turnaround. Grr. 


	39. Burying the Hatchet

When Hannah had finished the dishes after Severus left, she moved around the room picking up little things that were out of place, fluffing pillows, and straightening knickknacks. Finally, she stood up straight and admitted defeat. She needed someone to talk to. And Flitwick kept late hours.

When she knocked, the door was opened immediately. Flitwick was in his night shirt, a long nightcap with a tassel at the end hanging down over his shoulder.

"Hannah. What a pleasant surprise."

"I am so sorry; I don't know what I was thinking," Hannah said as she saw his attire. "Did I wake you up?"

"Not at all," he answered in his high-pitched voice, a smile on his face. "Please. Do come in."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." He stepped away from the door, and motioned over to the sofa. "Have a seat, my dear. It's been a while since we've had a nice long chat."

While Flitwick sat down in one corner of the sofa, Hannah sat down hesitantly on the floor, her back against the couch and her legs pulled up against her, not sure now if this had been a good idea. After a few minutes of small talk, Flitwick peered down at her with a sly grin and asked, "So, now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, why don't you tell me what you really came for?"

Pink creeping over her cheeks, she looked up at him in embarrassment. "Severus came for dinner."

"How very nice."

"I think I scared him."

Flitwick's smile deepened. "You? Scared him? Well, that's an unusual switch," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "It's generally he who does the scaring around here. So what happened?"

Hannah looked down at her hands and swallowed. "I… well, I told him I love him. It just sort of…came out. But he was different after that. Much quieter. And he left right after dinner."

"Hm." Flitwick leaned back in his seat. "I see."

"It was stupid, wasn't it? I mean, I shouldn't have…I just couldn't help it."

"Well, if you couldn't help it, it seems to me that it was the right thing to do."

"But he…"

"Hannah, there is something you have to understand. When it comes to his abilities and knowledge, Severus is confident to the point of arrogance. When it comes to more personal areas of his life, I have seen flobberworms with more self-confidence. I've known the man for almost thirty years, you know, from the time he came to Hogwarts as a boy. I don't think anyone telling him they have warm feelings for him has been a very common occurrence. Let him stew on it for a day or two. He'll get used to the idea. Did he say anything back to you?"

She shook her head. "No. Just 'What was that for?'"

"Well, that's not the most romantic statement of the year, is it?" Flitwick said, his mouth screwed up in wry grin.

"No. Not exactly," Hannah answered dryly. "But I wasn't really expecting him to reciprocate."

Flitwick nodded. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Hannah looked up at him.

"How serious are you about him?"

She sat up a little, taken aback. For a moment, she looked down at her hands, before raising her eyes again to meet Flitwick's. "Very serious," she said in a whisper. "I would not have told him otherwise."

He nodded, satisfied. "Good. I do know one thing – if you tell him something like that, you better mean it."

"Oh, I do," she said softly, and he could see her heart in her eyes.

"Well, then," he said, and found himself having to speak past a lump in his throat, "I am sure it will all work out fine."

.-.-.-.

Severus woke up the next morning not particularly well rested. Thoughts had kept running around his head, and it had taken his Occlumency skills to restore enough order to finally get some sleep. Even then, he had tossed and turned.

After his morning ablutions, he summoned Gwinny to obtain a cup of coffee. The house-elf, taking one look at his face, decided that mum was a good word for today, and other than "Yes, Master Snape" kept her mouth shut.

He sipped the hot liquid with a frown line etched on his forehead. It would be another busy day – time to brew Lupin's ruddy Wolfsbane again. He tilted the coffee cup up to drain the last dregs and grimaced. Not too bad, but Hannah's coffee was definitely better.

Leaving the cup on the table for the elves to take care of, he made his way to the workroom and started gathering and preparing his ingredients. This part of the process was near automatic for him after all the years he had brewed for the werewolf, and while his hands were busy, his thoughts went elsewhere.

So she fancied herself in love – but what was that built on? Some illusion of the noble, sacrificial war hero of Minerva's telling? She seemed to be blithely ignoring who he knew himself to be in favor of some phantom idea that she had in her head. Maybe it was the fact that he was a wizard that made her blind.

Nequam, for all her rancor, had summed it up quite well – he had neither station, personality, nor looks to recommend himself to a woman. So what was it, then?

She was looking at him through rose-colored – or was that wizard-colored? - glasses, but that sheen would not last as the days went by. Oh, it would be all right for a while, but when she would wake up to his face every morning, when she had to deal with his temper without the safety and distance of separate quarters, when she would not be able to gloss over what he had done and what he had been, when she was treated with the same disdain as he by society, it wouldn't be long and she would find herself trapped in a life with a man she could not even recognize.

He would have to talk to her, disabuse her of faulty notions and ideas. Bring her to her senses.

The hollow ache at that thought brought into focus the other direction his thoughts had taken yesterday. She talked of love. But where did he stand?

While he carefully ground the dried monkshood blossoms, he allowed the partitions of his mind to open and his thoughts and emotions to mingle. He had always been logical and methodical in his work, and the approach had served him well in other areas of his life. He saw no reason to abandon it now. Time to take stock, then. What was there? What did it add up to?

There was friendship. There had been no specific point he could remember where he had started to think 'I will have to tell Hannah about this' when something especially outrageous happened with one of the incompetent dunderheads in his class, but now that thought came frequently. He enjoyed the time they spent together, however little or much of it there was.

There was trust. The way she had behaved during the encounter with Pettigrew and during the trial left him in no doubt of her loyalty.

He liked her. She didn't grate on his nerves. She could be quiet when he wanted to be quiet. She wasn't afraid of him, or intimidated, and she seemed to have duck's-back-syndrome, at least most of the time, when it came to his moods and tempers.

There was physical attraction. The touches, the kisses, the embraces were nice, but they were not enough any more. Each time he held her, he became painfully more aware that it had been a long time since he had been with a woman. No, he wouldn't turn down what would be his if she became his…

His wife. His stomach lurched again and the even motion of the pestle halted as he actually put the vague idea into concrete terms.

So what_ did_ it add up to?

Enough, he thought bitterly, as he measured out the Luna-moth wings. Enough that if he had not grown up in a house where he had had a front row view of what the choking ache of a failed marriage can do to a woman, he would have been willing to take the chance and hope the illusion would last for at least a year or two of comparative happiness.

Did it deserve the word she had called it? He wasn't sure. His ideas of love were hazy at best, observed from a distance. He certainly hadn't fallen prey to the hearts-and-butterflies feelings – he snorted in disdain – that seemed to have possessed other people who had proclaimed themselves in love. But he had gotten used to her presence in his life over the last few months, used to someone to whom it mattered how his day had been, used to quiet evenings next to her, used to feeling wanted and needed, used to discussing ideas with her, used to her touch. He simply could not stomach the idea of losing that. Maybe he would not have to. Maybe the friendship could be salvaged. But his mother was right, he owed her a debt, even if she would have been appalled at the idea. Letting her walk unprepared into something that would surely be a mistake would be a fine way of repaying her.

For a moment, the picture of her telling him about her 'rule' came back to his mind. How once it got serious, she had needed to tell him the truth about who she was. Well, now it was his turn. And in her words – gads, he didn't want to.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A fewer hours later, and he stood in front of Lupin's office.

"Come!" he heard the werewolf, and he took a deep breath and then opened the door.

Lupin, holding a chunk of goat cheese, was standing in front of a cage containing a Finnish Frost Fairy, obviously trying to get the creature to eat.

"They like to live in flurries, Lupin; no wonder it's gone off its feed if you keep it alone. You need at least a pair – a fact that should not exactly come as news to you?" He put the goblet down on the desk and stepped over to the cage.

"I know that, Severus. I inherited this one from a friend after its mate died. Thought I would show it to the students, and then release it," Lupin replied in controlled tones. He dropped the cheese through the bars of the cage and straightened up.

Severus pointed at the goblet. "Bottoms up, Lupin; I don't have all day."

As the werewolf picked up the cup, Snape wandered around the room and stopped in front of a large covered tank that took up most of the north-east corner of the room. He peered inside. "I don't believe it. You actually managed to procure a Feyr, then, did you?" His voice sounded incredulous. He tapped on the glass, watching as the ragged-toothed mouth of the creature snapped at him and tentacles writhed in vain towards the offending noise.

"So it appears." Lupin answered shortly, taking another gulp of the potion.

"Well, well. Wonders never cease."

Remus looked over at the Potions master. He had been waiting for a good time to talk to Severus, but with Severus such a time did not seem to exist. How did that saying go? No time like the present? He took a deep breath. "Severus, may I ask you a question?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You may ask whatever you want. Whether I answer or not is my choice, isn't it?"

"Fair enough." Lupin sat down on the edge of his desk. "I was just wondering if there is any way to negotiate an end of hostilities? You must be as tired of this as I am."

The Potions master's expression grew rigid. "Again - you can always just tell me to stop bringing you the Wolfsbane, if my presence offends you so much."

Remus sighed wearily. Of course the potion gave him leverage. And he really couldn't blame him for using it. "I know how much time it takes out of your schedule to brew it for me, and I have told you time and time again that I am grateful. Very grateful. But I wish…" He ran a hand over his face. "Look, we are both adults. Couldn't we at least _try_ to bury the hatchet and get along?" He smiled a smile that he hoped was open and disarming. He wasn't quite sure if he succeeded

Severus turned back to the Feyr tank. "Not everyone who looks like an adult behaves like one," he said sharply, his lip curling.

"I know that there is bad history. You have reason to be angry at me. But that was literally decades ago. I would really…"

"If there were any evidence that you had changed since then, Lupin, you might have a point," Snape said scathingly.

"Would you care to be more explicit?" the werewolf asked patiently, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Your first year here, teaching – you knew Black was an Animagus, and you had every reason to believe that he was attempting to kill Potter, yet you deliberately concealed that fact from those of us who were actually trying to_ protect_ the boy. Protecting yourself instead of protecting Potter. Did you not think that information might have been an asset for us to know? _Before_ he broke a student's leg?"

Remus had gone very quiet. "You are right. Absolutely right. I should have told you. But then, we all make mistakes. You, for example, would have fed an innocent man to the Dementors – and _after_ he had offered to come with you quietly."

"You have no way of knowing, Lupin, if I would have followed through."

"No, I don't," Remus said in measured tones, "but I have never known you to be one for empty threats, Severus."

"You don't see a difference between threatening to execute someone I had all reason to believe was a mass murderer and endangering the life of students? First through gutless inaction, then through blatant irresponsibility? Leaving the castle on the night of a full moon without your full dose of Wolfsbane – what were you thinking, Lupin? As much as they despise me and _adore_ you, you have certainly come much closer to killing some of our precious pupils than I have."

The muscles in Remus' jaw tightened. "Well, Severus, if I recall correctly, you knew that it was nighttime, a full moon, and that I didn't have my potion as well as I did, yet you left the Wolfsbane in my office instead of taking it with you when you came after me. Could it just possibly be that what you saw on the map drove everything else from your mind, the same way it did me?"

"Excuses, Lupin," Snape snarled. "_You_ are the werewolf. I wasn't your keeper then. Don't try to pawn off responsibility on me."

"You're right." Remus, feeling terribly tired all of a sudden, cursed himself quietly. That sure hadn't come out as planned. "It _is_ a stupid excuse, and of course it was entirely my responsibility. I'm sorry. There are so many things I regret, things that I am ashamed off." He walked a few steps towards the window. "That, I think, is part of the problem. When I said I don't like you, Severus, I am afraid that was entirely the truth. Simply being around you puts me on the defensive. You have a way of reminding me of those parts of me that I am most ashamed of, all those things I would rather forget or pretend didn't exist." He turned around suddenly and faced the Potions master. "And it stings worse because I know you are right. Mea culpa. I am guilty of everything you accuse me off."

Snape was looking at him warily, eyes narrowed, obviously not quite sure what to make of that.

Taking a deep breath, Remus continued. "I've made mistakes. So have you. You know that better than most. When I used to look at you, all I could see was the Slytherin who was our enemy, that mark on your arm, the way Pettigrew escaped because you would not listen, and how unfair you were with the students." He could see Severus start to bristle and open his mouth. He quickly held up his hand. "Let me finish."

Severus closed his mouth, leaned back against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I've seen so much more of you over the last few years," Lupin continued. "I saw that if you gave your word to do something, it would get done, no matter what it cost you. I saw how you ran yourself ragged between teaching and Order duties. How you would have given your life for Harry even though you can't stand the boy. I saw you fight in the last battle, Severus. You were amazing." He picked up the goblet, and drained the last of the potion. For a moment, he was quiet. Then he looked up at the Potions master with a crooked grin. "You're about the last person on earth I would want for a roommate, but in a fight, there is no one I would rather have by my side. I would trust you with my life." He dropped his eyes, turning the goblet around in his hands as if studying the design before looking up at the Potions master again. "And I was hoping that you would be able to see that I gave all I had, as well. I have fought to the best of my ability over the last few years, and I know that in the way I have lived my life there are things that would make you think better of me, if you would only care to look."

For a moment they faced off, eyes locked, neither of them moving.

Pictures ran through Severus' head: Lupin, looking away while his friends hexed him. Lupin, his arms branded with Pettigrew's message. Lupin, in vain reading him the riot act about stopping Occlumency lessons. Lupin, the transformed werewolf at the end of the tunnel. Lupin, volunteering immediately to help out with his father's funeral. Lupin, firing off spell after spell during the last battle. Lupin's face, ragged with concern after the trial.

"Will you think about it?" the werewolf interrupted the procession of images.

Severus' nostrils narrowed. "Don't expect miracles, Lupin."

"I won't."

Severus nodded tightly. "Very well, then. If you are finished?" He held out his hand.

"Oh, of course." Lupin handed the goblet back self-consciously. "And thank you. Again."

* * *

A/N: I borrowed the Feyr from _Dungeons and Dragons. _I shall return it unharmed. 


	40. Hard Angles and Sharp Edges

A/N: Well, there it is. I have never rewritten a chapter as often as this – the final draft count stands at twelve! So please be kind - I am afraid my ego is rather fragile on this one. :o/ Thanks to Verity Brown and lalaluu for their beta-ly input. And my heartfelt thanks to everyone who reviewed – this wouldn't be nearly as much fun without your comments, thoughts, and advice!

But, back to the story...

* * *

When late on the same afternoon the fireplace jumped to life in a rush of green flames, Hannah smiled as she saw the black-robed figure of the Potions master appear. After the awkwardness of having uttered those three little words the evening before, she really had expected him to skip their usual get-together for a cup of tea or a glass of wine and avoid her for a few days. Not that she at all minded being proven wrong in this case. 

The smile dropped off her face as he stepped out onto the hearth, disdainfully brushing off the flecks of ashes that were the inevitable result of Floo travel. She looked him up and down – he was entirely too pale and pinched-looking.

Standing up, she came over and kissed him lightly. "I'm glad to see you," she said as she took him by the hand. "Are you all right? You don't look well."

"It's nothing," he said dismissively as they walked over to the sofa. "I am just a bit tired." Hannah just gave a soft snort at his words, and then disappeared into the kitchen area as he sat down.

Severus sighed inwardly as he heard her rummage around in the cabinets. She was getting entirely too good at reading his body language. The truth was that his restless night had started to catch up with him, and his old injury, aggravated by the hours of standing over a cauldron brewing the Wolfsbane, ached more than usual. Not to mention that the thought of the conversation he was about to have with her had sat like a cold rock in his stomach all day.

Hannah had returned and now squatted down before him, one hand on his knee, the other holding out a tumbler of whisky to him. "Here. You look like you need it," she said. When he frowned at her, she smiled at him lopsidedly. "Sorry, Severus. I know I'm not supposed to fuss. But sometimes, I can't help it."

He took the tumbler from her with a curt nod of thanks. What was it they called whisky? Liquid courage? He smiled bitterly to himself. There was more than one potion that would be much more effective in that department had he needed the help. Yet there was no denying the whisky was welcome. He sipped the amber liquid appreciatively, feeling the pleasant heat as it ran down his throat and into his stomach.

"They work you too hard," she said, getting up off the floor and sitting down next to him. "You brewed Remus' Wolfsbane today, didn't you? Small wonder you're worn out. A few hundred students, potions for the hospital wing, hall patrols, Head of House duties – I don't think there is anyone else in this school who works as hard as you. It's ridiculous, really. No teacher in a Muggle school would ever put up with the hours that you keep. – How about your dragon pox project? Are you going to have any time at all to work on that during break?"

He shook his head. "There are too many other things that need to be taken care of. It will have to wait until…" He shut his mouth abruptly. That complication could wait until he knew if telling her was relevant or not.

She didn't seem to have noticed. "Can you take the evening off? Why don't we just have the house-elves bring us up a tray for dinner, and you can relax for a while?"

He looked down at her with a smirk. "You said something earlier, I believe, about not fussing? – And I don't think it is advisable for both of us to miss dinner again, a second night in a row."

She was silent for a moment. "All right, then; if you think it is necessary, I'll go down by myself." Her voice sounded tired, and for a second there was a tone to it he didn't like, but it faded immediately. "You really should get some rest."

"I am quite capable of deciding when I need rest or not." There was a tinge of sharpness in his voice. He had found, to his surprise, that he in general didn't have the same reaction to her fussing that Pomfrey, McGonagall, or Dumbledore would have evoked had they spouted the same sentiments. But right now, she was pushing his limits.

"Fine, then." She stood up, her body tensing, and took the empty glass from him. "Never mind. I'm sorry."

He caught her by the wrist. "Don't. Sit down." Their eyes locked for a moment, and she didn't move. "Please," he added.

After another second, she relaxed, putting down the glass on the table and sitting back down next to him. She looked at her hands, folded in her lap, before lifting her eyes again. "Look, I know I fuss and worry too much, and that it doesn't exactly make you happy when I do that. But I'm scared, Severus." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Pettigrew is still out there, and I feel like all I am doing is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Do _you _think he has given up?"

He slowly shook his head, regretfully. "No. I don't."

"I'm afraid my nerves are just a tad frayed at the moment. So, if I overreact and carry on a bit, could you just ignore me? Please?" She smiled at him lopsidedly. "Even if it doesn't do anything else, it makes me feel better. I'll try not to, but it's hard right now." She watched as he reached over and covered her folded hands with his, his long, thin fingers curling protectively around hers. "I have nightmares sometimes. About what he did. About what he _could _do. The idea of anything happening to you terrifies me."

Severus tightened his hand over hers. "Hogwarts is the safest place we could be. And you needn't worry, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. It's just that Pettigrew doesn't fight fair. And that gives him an advantage, doesn't it?" She looked up at him with a small smile. "Don't mind me. I suppose when you care about someone, worrying is just part of the territory…" Her voice faded out.

Letting go of her hands, Severus got up from the sofa. He walked over to the window, and, pulling the curtain to the side, looked out, trying to buy time. This would not be easy.

She looked at him questioningly as she sat up, her eyebrows drawing together. "What are you doing?"

"There is something I need to talk to you about," he cut her off. "Something you have to understand..."

He paused. How to do this? The direct approach would be best, he decided. He took a deep breath. "There are things about me that you do not know."

Hannah looked at him warily. He turned to her abruptly, letting go of the curtain. "You know that I was a Death Eater."

"Yes." She regarded him steadily. "I do know that."

"You have to realize – I was very young then. He offered me power…" He was pacing now, back and forth in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Go on," she said quietly.

"I knew what I was doing. There is no excuse, nothing I could offer as justification for my actions."

"As you said, you were very young. You have changed since then."

"I don't think you realize…" He stopped. "There are things I have done. Terrible things."

She stood up as well, walked over to him, and put a hand on his arm. "Severus, I know what Death Eaters do," she said quietly.

"Do you? I wonder, do you really understand?" He turned to her, his black eyes boring into hers, willing her to see. "I appreciate the affection you have shown me, but if I…if we…" He cleared his throat. "You should know exactly what you are up against. I am not a good man, Hannah." The words came out raw. "Those accusations in the _Daily Prophet_ may not be true now, but they would have been at one point in my life. If they threw me into Azkaban tomorrow, I would deserve every minute and hour of my sentence. I have…"

"Wait." Hannah gently put the fingertips of her right hand across his mouth. "Before you continue, let me say this – if you need to tell me, I will listen. But, Severus, I don't need to hear. I told you, I know what Death Eaters do. But that is not who you are any more. You made your choice in that matter a long time ago. I don't need the details. Unless you need for me to know them."

He looked into her eyes for a long moment. "No," he said in a near whisper. "I don't."

"All right, then," she said softly. His arms wrapped around her as she leaned against him, her head on his chest. For a moment, he rested his face against her hair. Then, with an effort, he took a step back, holding her by her upper arms.

"I am not yet finished. It didn't end then. I was Dumbledore's spy among the Death Eaters for the last few years. To maintain that cover, there were things I had to do…." _Things I have done. Things I had to do._ Feeble words for the atrocities he had witnessed as a helpless observer and committed as an active participant, for the images and sounds that resurfaced in his nightmares.

"It wasn't your choice. You did what you had to."

"I tried to avoid what I could, but there were times… I killed, Hannah, and I tortured, just like any other Death Eater. No difference. People died because of me."

She looked up at him, her eyes shadowed. "But how many people are alive because of you? Don't you realize that if it weren't for you, we might still be at war?"

"Does it matter?" he asked harshly. "If a man pulls ten drowning people from a lake, and then goes on to strangle another one, will they not still throw him into Azkaban for life?"

"Would they see it the same way if the only possible chance to save those ten would be to kill the one?" Her voice was quiet. "I think it makes a difference."

"Do you think it makes a difference to the one who was killed?" There was that awful look in eyes again, and Hannah could not bear it. She lightly put her hand against his face as she met his gaze.

"It makes a difference to me. You _are_ a good man."

"Were you not listening just now? I told you who I was, what I have done…"

"And I know there is more to the man that you are now than that. Much more."

He turned away in a jerking movement. She was not making this any easier. As he turned, he caught their reflection in the mirror. With a rough motion, he took her by the shoulders and turned her so that she could see it, too.

"Look," he demanded, pointing at the reflection. "Just look – look at the man I am now…" There was bitterness in his voice. "Most of the wizarding world sees me as contemptible - a Death Eater and murderer who got away with it. They would think of you the same way if…"

"I don't really care," she interrupted him again. "I don't really care if other people believe that garbage in the _Prophet_. So what if they believe twisted facts and half-truth? I wish they wouldn't, but at least I know better."

"Dumbledore still receives owls on a regular basis demanding my dismissal."

"So what? He isn't going to listen, either. He knows better, too."

"You wouldn't be happy with me. I am not pleasant to be around. I seem to manage to upset you quite regularly."

"You haven't heard me complain, have you?" She smiled wryly. "Well, at least not much. I manage to annoy _you _often enough, don't I? That's just real life. I'm not expecting perfection."

For a moment, they were silent.

"Look, Severus, in a couple of months it will be a year since I've known you. I think I have seen the good, the bad, and the ugly in that time, don't you think? It's not as if you had ever pretended to be a sweetness-and-light kind of man." A grin flitted across her face. "And I have to admit, some of the times I find you most attractive are when you are in full swoop-and-scowl mode, striding down the corridor, robe billowing behind you..."

"Attractive?" he said, disbelievingly. "And I supposed next you will tell me that you consider my nose one of my best assets?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Hannah looked up at him with a stubborn expression. "As a matter of fact, I like your nose."

Snape snorted, his eyes narrowing. "If I ever had any doubts about the fact that my appearance is considered far from desirable, they would have been put to rest long ago by the decidedly uncomplimentary comments regarding my person that I have been subjected to over the years."

"So you aren't handsome. That doesn't mean you aren't attractive to me. I like your face. It's part of who you are. If tomorrow some spell permanently transfigured you into one of those insipid Most Charming Smile winners that _Witch Weekly_ likes to put on the cover, I would sorely miss your nose. And the rest of your face." She had that mulish look on her face again.

His lips curled into a sneer. "I suppose Pettigrew was right, then. There is no accounting for taste…" At that, he saw the first real anger in her face.

"_Stop_," she hissed, her eyes blazing. "Good Lord, Severus, one more word like that out of you and I don't know what I will do." She looked at their reflection in the mirror again. "Heavens, how can what you see and what I see be so different?"

"What _do_ you see, then?" Severus asked roughly. "How can it…"

"What _I _see," the mirror interrupted him in a languid voice, "are two people who are talking entirely too much. While all this soul searching is quite fascinating, Sir, I am not at all sure that you are choosing the right approach here if your goal is a satisfying progression in the relationship. – If I could give you a small piece of advice, attention to better personal hygiene, especially regarding the hair, might make her more receptive to less talk and more action, if you catch my drift? Anyways, I highly recommend…"

"Severus, could you shut the damn mirror up?" Hannah hissed loudly, looking like she was about at the end of her rope.

With a smirk, Severus took out his wand, and after a muttered '_Silencio'_, there was blessed silence.

"Thank you," Hannah said in a clipped voice. "Any way to make that spell permanent?"

"I am sure something can be arranged."

They stood still, looking at each other self-consciously.

"Look, Severus," she finally said, taking a deep breath. "It is not like I am blind to your faults. You can be petty, pedantic, and petulant. You are suspicious, sharp-tongued, prone to believe the worst, and you have a nasty temper. I could go on. There is this hardness and sharpness to you that I think will always be there. You would never have survived this long without it, and so I am grateful for that.

"And you see," she continued, "that isn't all there is. The man who was willing to die so I could be safe – that was you. The man who holds me and lets me cry when I have had a bad day, who listens to me, who gives me good advice, who makes me laugh, that is you, too." She reached up again, her hand caressing his face. "What else can I say? There's so much to love about you – your courage, your sense of honor, your strength, your skill. I could go on. I would trust you with anything. You have this dry, backhanded sense of humor, and I enjoy talking to you more than I can say. You're a better friend than I could have hoped for." Her fingertip ran over his eyebrow, and her voice dropped down to a soft murmur. "And you have wonderful eyes."

At that, Severus turned away abruptly. "I assure you, there is no need for flattery."

Hannah's mouth narrowed. "And I assure you, Severus, that nothing I have said was in the least designed to flatter."

Severus took a step back, dropping his hands to his side. Hannah could see his jaw working for a moment before he spoke quietly, his voice sounding like sandpaper. "Believe me, Hannah, this would be a mistake. You don't want me."

"I'm afraid you have your pronouns mixed up," she said softly, tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

His eyes narrowed, and a frown line appeared between his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"It seems to me," she said carefully, "as if you are trying your best to talk me out of you. And I don't _want_ to be talked out of you. So it appears to me as if it is _you_ who maybe doesn't want _me_. And that this is your way of trying to let me down easy. In which case I would prefer you to just tell me and get it over with."

She looked up into his dark eyes as she spoke, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice, wondering if he knew that he was holding her heart in his hand right now, that some of her dearest dreams were hanging in the balance of this moment.

"Why," - he frowned slightly, as if puzzled, - "would you think that?"

She shrugged helplessly. "You have been taking pains to make sure no one sees us together, and you won't say more than two words to me in public. I mean, I am a Squib, you're a wizard…I keep expecting you to change your mind…really, I wouldn't blame you…"

"No." He shook his head firmly. "You quite mistake my intentions."

Slowly, Hannah let out a breath. "Well, I'm happy to hear that," she said with a wobble in her voice. "Because you see, Severus, you are sort of 'it' for me. You would be terribly hard to get over."

Two tears spilled over her cheeks as she looked up at him with a shaky smile. And for a moment he got the impression that she was fragile like spun glass right now, that one word from him could crush her.

When he had first started practicing with a wand as a young boy, he had taken rocks and lined them up on top of the fence behind the house, and then tried to blast them off, learning to direct the spell with precision and focus. Again and again, he had set the rocks up, in a neat line, one after another. If he closed his eyes, he could picture them, outlined dark against the bright sky…

She had set out for him in the last few minutes – was it only minutes? – exactly how she thought of him, felt about him; pieces of her heart, open and exposed, lined up in plain sight, for him to do with as he pleased.

Severus, his face set tight, looked at her in aching incomprehension. How could she? How could she want him that much? In spite of everything he had done, everything he had told her?

She was still standing there, looking up at him with a still face, waiting. She hadn't bothered to wipe the tears away. And the silence was stretching out too long. It was up to him now…

He held out his arm. "Come here," he said. She came quietly, and he pulled her against him, cradling her face against his chest, his hands running over her hair and back. She exhaled softly as he held her tight, and he could feel her relax against him, her body growing soft and pliant in his arms.

He lowered his mouth against her hair, thoughts still swirling in confusion. "Why?" he murmured. "Why me?"

She freed herself from his embrace just enough so that she could lean back a little and look up at into his eyes. "I don't know if I can explain it," she said hesitantly. "The best explanation I can think of is this: That there was this empty space for someone to love, and when I met you, something inside me took the measure of you and decided that you fit perfectly…hard angles, sharp edges, and all. It isn't something that can be summed up in a logical way. You just – fit."

As he pulled her back against him, it was as if something suddenly shifted into place. All the uneasiness and turmoil faded away, and he knew that this was perfect and right.

Because she fit, too.


	41. A Personal Matter

Two days later, Severus had again delivered the Wolfsbane Potion to the werewolf when he stopped in the doorframe on his way out.  
"Say, Lupin…" 

"Yes?" Remus looked up from his desk in surprise.

"There is a personal matter that I need to attend to. The Headmaster strongly _suggested_," – he grimaced – "that, as Wormtail is still unaccounted for, I take at least two Order members along. I asked McGonagall, but she was already otherwise engaged. If you feel up to the task…?"

"It's still four days until the full moon. I'm fine. Who else is coming?"

"Flitwick."

"Good." Remus smiled. "When and where?"

"Tomorrow. I need to return to my father's house. If you could be prepared to leave, say, right after lunch?"

Lupin nodded. "I'll be ready."

.-.-.-.

With soft pops, the three wizards Apparated on the poplar lined gravel path that led up to the house. Before approaching the entry, Snape turned to his two companions. "I do not have to remind you, I am sure, that anything you see today is not meant for public discussion?"

"Of course," Flitwick replied. "Our lips will be sealed. Right, Remus?"

"Oh, yes," the werewolf replied distractedly, looking up at the dilapidated front of the building, standing out starkly against the bright sky. "Certainly."

Snape shot him a sharp glance, but evidently decided that it was good enough. "Follow me, then." He turned and walked towards the door with decisive steps.

_So this was it. The place Severus had grown up._ Remus stared at the crumbling façade. There was an air of hostility to the place, as if the very walls resented his presence. An involuntary shudder ran through Remus as he followed Severus to the front door.

Severus turned the doorknob cautiously, his wand drawn. The other two followed as he warily stepped over the threshold. They were met by near-total silence, only interrupted by the ticking of a clock and the whirring of some appliance far off in the distance.

Finally, Snape lowered his wand arm and stood up straight.

"So far, so good," Remus said, lowering his wand as well. "What now?"

"My mother wishes to see the house sold," Snape replied stiffly. "She asked me to retrieve some personal items as well as to see to… another issue." Lupin lifted an eyebrow, but decided that Severus' face was not at the moment inviting questions.

"There are only a few things I will need to obtain," Snape continued. "All the rest will be sold with the building. If you will follow me?"

Remus looked around curiously as he walked behind the Potions master. Every room exuded an air of shabby opulence, of the decaying remains of something once quite grand. Somehow, he could not imagine a child ever living in this place. There was no trace of the fact that his former schoolmate had ever been in residence here. Even though a few framed photographs hung on the walls, Severus was conspicuously absent from all of them.

The only place even remotely cozy was the kitchen, with its scrubbed yellow pine table, pot-bellied stove and flowered curtains. The chubby willow-ware teapot on the counter was evidently on the list of things to be collected, since Severus, with a smart tap of his wand, shrunk it, wrapped it in a kitchen towel, and set it down in an empty box he had retrieved from what looked to be the broom closet.

A frownline on his forehead, the Potions master looked at a dried-out loaf of bread still resting on a cutting board. "We should probably dispose of anything perishable."

Remus wrinkled his nose as Severus opened the icebox – from the stench that arose, it appeared that most of the perishables had perished already. A bowl of something in the back, covered in black mold, looked like it was about to sprout new lifeforms.

Flitwick was standing in the door of the larder, from which similarly unpleasant odors emanated. "I'll take care of this," he volunteered with a sigh. "You two go on." Remus shot him a thankful glance – this close to the full moon, his sense of smell was more acute than it normally was. He would not have relished this task.

The two wizards left Flitwick to his clean-up work and started on the rest of the ground floor. As Severus sorted out the desired items – a few paintings and photos, an embroidered tablecloth, a set of silverware – Remus shrunk them to a manageable size and deposited them into the box, now waiting by the front door. Working together, it took them less than fifteen minutes to gather everything that was wanted on that floor. There evidently wasn't much that had enough monetary or emotional value to make Severus' mother want to keep it.

In almost no time, they rejoined Flitwick in the kitchen. Both the larder and icebox were emptied and restored to pristine condition. The whole kitchen had been cleaned to a sparkling shine. Snape looked around with satisfaction and nodded approvingly towards the Charms master. Flitwick blushed a pleased pink

"Very well," Snape said as he motioned them out of the kitchen. "Let's go up, then."

Remus and Flitwick exchanged a glance, eyebrows lifted, as they followed Severus up the staircase. The walls were lined with portraits of generations of Snapes – not a handsome family, by any definition. Severus' ancestors glared out of the portraits with severe and foreboding expressions; hooked noses and sharp features dominated their faces. None of them deigned the visitors worth talking to.

At the stern, unyielding stares of that many Snapes following his progress up the stairs, Remus felt his skin crawl and the hair stand up on his neck. One Snape glaring at him was bad enough, he decided. At least two dozen of them giving him the once-over was positively unnerving. He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the upstairs landing.

They worked through the upstairs with equal speed. A fine ivory-inlaid side table, many leather-bound tomes Snape collected from the library, and the contents of Saeran Snape's closet and jewelry box were miniaturized and taken downstairs. Personal items that were not wanted simply Vanished with a wave of Severus' wand.

Finally, only one room remained. Severus took a deep breath before opening the door to his father's bedroom. He let it out slowly as he walked through. The Aurors had left it in surprisingly good condition. He had expected the room to be in much bigger disarray, but for once the Ministry had actually exceeded his, admittedly quite low, expectations. He should mark the day red on the calendar, he thought with a snort.

He looked around the room for a moment and then nodded over towards the desk. "Let's just take the whole thing, I don't want to bother with sorting through papers at the moment."

While Flitwick and Remus took care of the desk, Severus grimly crouched down close to a large, rust-colored stain on the threadbare oriental carpet in front of the bed – all that remained of the horror that had happened here. So here was where Wormtail had placed his father when he had staged the scene for the Aurors. His lips tightened to a thin, white line.

A decisive flick of his wand and the carpet vanished. That did not solve the problem – the stain had gone clear down to the floorboards. Revulsion edged on his face, Severus ran his wand tip over the stain, the dried blood disappearing in its wake until nothing remained. When he had finished, he rose and turned away sharply. It was over.

"Is that all, then?" Flitwick stood waiting for him. Remus had gone, presumably to run the newly shrunken desk down to the box.

He smiled grimly. "Not yet. Follow me."

.-.-.-.-.

Remus was waiting by the front door when he saw the other two coming down the stairs. _Good_, he thought with relief. He had not looked forward to another run through the gauntlet of Snapes. "Are we finished?" he asked. "Anything else?"

"Severus has another task for us," Flitwick replied in his twittery voice. When Remus looked at him questioningly as they followed Snape's billowing cloak tails, he just raised his hands in a gesture of resignation.

They walked down a narrow, twisting passageway into the cellar. It dead-ended in a small, dark room full of broken tools and dust-covered glass jars and bottles. Next to an overloaded wooden shelf (holding a selection of ancient preserves that seemed to be approaching fossilization at a rapid rate) there was a section of bare, dirty brick wall. It was in front of this Snape stopped and pulled out his wand.

"_Post lux, tenebras," _he muttered, and at the last syllable, the image of the wall wavered and then slowly faded away, revealing another door. Warily, as if expecting some sort of booby trap, Severus opened the door and stepped through. Lupin and Flitwick followed him cautiously.

The room on the other side was cavernous, broken up by half-walls that divided it into definite sections without obscuring sight of the whole. The part of the room immediately in front of them was taken up by numerous of these bays, some of them in darkness, some of them illuminated by floating orbs that gave off a ghastly, greenish light. Remus' nose was assaulted by the smell of dampness and decay.

Each bay held a large rectangular box. Snape walked over to the one closest to them, and pulled off the burlap cover. Beneath it, they could just see small, button-shaped protrusions of a buttery cream color, pushing through a dark substrate.

"Officially, my father subsisted on the dwindling remains of the family vault. In actuality, he specialized in psilocybic mushrooms. This one would be _Psilocybe Cubensis_, an African import." Snape pointed over to the bed in the next bay. "_Psilocybe Semilanceata_, our very own English variant."

Lupin and Flitwick looked around with wide eyes. "What are they good for?" Lupin asked. "What do they do?"

Snape took out his wand as he removed the cover from the next bay. "A small – very small – part of the Muggle population uses them as recreational drugs. My father, though, thought it beneath the dignity of a pureblood to stoop to dealing with Muggles. His main interest lay in using the spores, a distillation of the fruiting bodies, and the mycelium itself to create potions that were able to alter perceived reality, with varying degrees of success. – I would suggest a heating spell to kill every last hypha before Vanishing the lot." He aimed his wand, and a glowing beam hit the nearest growing frame. It only took a few seconds for the small mushrooms to turn brown and shrivel up.

Slowly, they walked past the growing bays. Some of the beds were empty, some of them way past their prime – large mushrooms, tipped over and decaying after weeks of not being attended to, giving off a sickly sweet smell. At the end of the growing bays, the room opened up, the contents looking familiar to them all – obviously, a well-used potions laboratory. There were signs that the owner had spent much of his time down here; a cot with a folded up blanket stood against one wall, dog-eared books and copies of Potions Monthly cluttering the floor next to it.

Lupin curiously walked over to a cauldron still set on low heat, some content remaining thick and sludgy in the bottom. He picked up the pewter stir-stick that lay on the table next to it.

"Have a care what you touch, Lupin," Snape's harsh voice interrupted him. "Some of these potions are meant to be absorbed through the skin. And as they are experimental, I could not even remotely guess what effect they might have on your lycanthropic self."

Lupin hastily dropped the stir-stick.

Flitwick was standing in front of an open storage cabinet that held assorted phials and bottles, reading the labels with a myopic squint. "Did he ever finish any of them?" he asked. "The potions he experimented with, I mean?"

"Only one. Most of them never made it past the experimental stages. This one," he pointed to a slim, magenta-colored bottle, "will create illusions based on your sub-conscious wishes. A few drops, and the most ordinary looking witch will take on the look of your wildest fantasies. Sadly for my father, he was never able to overcome certain side effects. Few people," he added with a smirk, "are willing to put up with days of debilitating headaches for a few hours of wish fulfillment."

Lupin looked around – there was no evidence of laboratory animals. He wondered how Snape Sr. had tested his potions. Maybe he had tested them on himself. Maybe there were test animals housed outside somewhere. Or maybe he had paid human test subjects, or simply Obliviated unwilling victims after testing. From all he had heard about Snape's father, he would not put it past him. Another thought surfaced – Severus had looked awfully pale and peaky every time he had comeback to Hogwarts from holiday…he pushed the thought away as quickly as he could. Some things just did not bear thinking about.

Meanwhile, Severus pointed to another row of bottles, holding a murky grey elixir. "This one over here works on the same basic principle. It was the only one he actually managed to complete, the one that he was most proud of. If taken before a criminal attack, it justifies what you are doing to the mind. You can commit the most vile rape, the most brutal murder, and your mind will record it as consensual sex or self-defense. _That_ is the memory you walk away with, and neither Veritaserum nor Legilimency will be able to distinguish the substituted mental images from the truth. Quite popular among some of the more squeamish Death Eaters. As the target demographic is obviously quite limited, the commercial success of the potion was anything but overwhelming. – And before you ask," he said coldly at the horrified expression on the werewolf's face, "no, I never used it."

Lupin looked like he was about to be sick, while Flitwick stared with revulsion at the row of crystal containers.

_What had they expected?_ Severus looked at the two with a grim smile. _That his father had dedicated his life to finding a cure for hangnails? _

He left the two still staring at the bottles and walked over to the storage cabinet. Opening the door, he took out a jar, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed. "Still quite fresh. This will do well to supplement the school stores," he muttered, and began rifling through the cabinet. When he had piled all the flasks and jars of raw ingredients that he desired into a box, he stood up, satisfied. "Everything else needs to be destroyed."

Lupin shivered. "Gladly," he said.

They spent the next couple of hours clearing out the laboratory and the growing bays, until nothing remained of the late Augustus Snape's life work.

Finally, Snape straightened up. "If you will excuse me, I have one more thing I need to see to. I won't be long."

Leaving Flitwick and Remus to finish up, he made his way up the stairs to his father's bedroom again and stopped in front of a large, garish painting of a chimera rearing up on its hind legs, attacking something just out of sight on the other side of the gilded frame. A muttered incantation and a complicated swirl of the wand, and the painting turned into the steel-plated cover of a vault. Severus put both his hands against the door and muttered another word. Slowly, the door swung open.

He stepped inside with a derisive sneer. Large vault, very little content. The room was almost empty, except for a small pile of papers and a half a dozen or so velvet-covered boxes. His father had sold almost everything of value over the years. There were just a few items that had been in the family so long that it had seemed unthinkable to sell them.

Folding the papers up with precision, he tucked them into the pockets of his robe and then did the same with the collection of boxes. When he got to the last box – small and square, and covered in deep green velvet – he hesitated. Slowly, he sprung the lid.

Something small and golden, glittering brightly even in the dim light of the vault, sat inside. Severus, turning it to catch the light to best effect, looked at it with a peculiar expression. Then he closed the lid with a snap, his fingers curling tightly around the small box.

Everything else would go to his mother. This, he would keep.

------------------------------------------

A/N: I remember Persephone Lupin (at least I think it was her, if I am wrong, please someone correct me!) in one of her stories gave Snape a history of impaired liver function, which could explain his sallow, yellowish skin, lank hair and gaunt physique. I thought that idea quite intriguing. Being used as a potions guinea pig could certainly cause damage like that…

Anyway, check out her stories, there is some great stuff there!


	42. Shreds and Patches

A/N: This is a bit shorter than usual, but still longer than most of the first fifteen chapters. It is also quite fluffy, but it has been a sort of depressing week, and so I needed something fluffy. So there, LOL.

* * *

It was late evening before Severus returned. He had sent Flitwick and Lupin back to Hogwarts with the Potions supplies once they had finished with the house, but he still had to deliver the items they had retrieved to his mother. Then, there were papers to go through and assorted other details to work out regarding the disposal of his father's estate. It had taken a while to tear himself away from his aunt and mother's cottage, and it had long been dark when he finally Apparated at the edge of the Forbidden Forest to begin the walk back to the dungeons – another long day in a series of long days. 

He took off his cloak once he reached his quarters, sat down in the leather armchair in front of the cold fireplace, leaned back his head and closed his eyes. It had been hard going back to the house.

The last time he stepped out that door he had felt a heavy weight lift, knowing he would never have to come back. He was proud of his lineage – proud of being part of a family that could trace its history back a thousand years, a lineage that was strewn with people of importance, ancestors that had made their mark on their generation, for good or for bad. Proud, sharp, confident, strong, the Snapes had not always been what they had degenerated to over the last few generations. But he didn't need the house to remind him of that. The house reminded him of other things, things he would rather forget. And he was sure his mother felt the same way.

No, it was the right thing to do, selling the house. The house was the only valuable asset they had left. His mother's half of the proceeds would support her nicely for quite a while. Not that the house was worth much in its present state; the real value lay in the land. But some nouveau riche wizarding family might like the idea of acquiring an old pureblood estate, and would be willing to sink the money into the property that would be needed to restore the house to what it had been.

For a moment he sat motionlessly; emotionally and physically exhausted. The presence of Lupin and Flitwick had made him stay on task, kept him from succumbing to pathetic, dreary memories. For that, at least, he was grateful.

He straightened back up abruptly and picked up a book. After turning a few pages, he put it back down and got up. Restlessly, he walked a few paces before admitting the fact to himself: he wanted her.

He shook his head irritably as if to dispel a pesky fly and paced back and forth a few steps in front of the fireplace.

This had happened more than once lately. Usually, it was not practical to act on the urge – he would be stuck in class or in meetings; it would be too late or too early… And even when he would have had the time, he had fought the impulse as a weakness and had made himself wait until a time that she would be expecting him.

She wasn't expecting him tonight. He had told her that he would most likely be back very late, and that he would just see her tomorrow when he had told her about his plans before lunch.

He walked a few more paces, knowing he was being ridiculous. She would _want_ to know how everything had gone, she might even be worrying – surely, it would be the kind thing to do to put her mind at ease…. Resolutely, he picked up a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

She must have gotten up as soon as she had heard the flames spring to life in the fireplace. He barely had time to step out on the hearth before he heard some sort of incoherent little cry and found himself kissed hard and long before being pulled into a tight hug. "The thought of you back in that house…I'm so glad to see you…" Evidently, she _had_ been worried, he thought with a smug little smirk as he let her pull his head down against her shoulder. He closed his eyes and let her hold him, blocking out all thought and simply enjoying the warmth of her body against his.

"So how did everything go?" she finally asked, leaning back a little.

"It went fine," he murmured, pulling her back towards himself.

"It must have been so hard, going back there."

He didn't answer, just pulled her closer. She hugged him back tightly. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine," he murmured against her hair. Satisfied for the moment, she pressed her face against his neck. He could feel her breath against his skin, soft, warm, moist, and as he held her, he felt the tightly wound coil within him ease up a little. Right that moment, he _was_ fine. Better, at least, than he had been all day. When he finally straightened up a minute or two later, she reluctantly did the same.

"Can I get you anything? I assume you had dinner?"

He nodded. "I ate at Anwyn's."

"A cup of tea, then? Or something stronger?"

"Tea would be perfect."

He sat down at the table, watching her as she filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove. "While on the subject of dinner," he said lightly, "my aunt and mother have been bothering me about bringing you over for a meal. Would next Sunday be convenient?"

"For Easter?" She was looking question marks at him as she pulled two mugs out of the cabinet.

"Yes. They will be planning a dinner already, so I thought that would be easiest. Unless you have other plans?"

"No. No other plans." She walked over and stood behind his chair, her hands rubbing his shoulders as she waited for the water to come to a boil. He leaned his head back against her, closing his eyes.

"Do you think they will approve of me?" she said, a touch of worry in her voice. "At least they already know I'm a Squib…"

The beginnings of a smirk played around his mouth. She seemed to have forgotten that it was the very fact that she _was_ a Squib that had protected him from the dementor's kiss and his mother from staying under Pettigrew's curse indefinitely. "I believe my mother, at least, is quite inclined to like you," he said dryly, his eyes still closed.

Hannah looked down on his face, feeling the by now familiar tightness in her chest. He looked worn out and tired, that grey, pinched look to his face that she hated. She gently ran a finger over the lines of his face, tracing his eyelids, the curve of his nose, the angles of his cheekbones, standing out sharply in his gaunt face. Not too long ago, he had flinched almost every time she touched him. Now, she could see some of the tightness fade out of his features as her fingers stroked his skin. She followed the shape of his ear, then the line of his jaw, rough against her fingertips.

"How long has the house been in your family?" She looked carefully at his face as she asked, looking for signs of anger or discomfiture, having learned by now that sticking a toe into the turbulent waters of his personal history was perilous business.

There was so much she still didn't know about him. She had pieced together shreds and patches of his childhood from the bits he would let slip here and there, the few things he had told her. That it had been a cold house to grow up in – his mother sneaking him affection behind his father's back as if it were contraband pieces of chocolate: clandestine, piecemeal, sparingly, sweet for a moment but leaving him hungry, always afraid of what his father would do when he found out that she hadn't obeyed his orders to 'not mollycoddle the boy'. And his father…the way Severus would abruptly stop a conversation when it came to that subject was almost more eloquent than anything he could say.

"Not that long. About three hundred years." The words came out reluctantly.

"I can understand that your mother wants to sell it, after all that has happened." She slid her hands around to the back of his neck, massaging the muscles at the base of his skull with her fingertips.

He stifled a sigh. "It is the right thing to do."

"I imagine in spite of everything, it might be hard to see it pass into other people's hands." Her hands moved down to his neck, his shoulders.

He shook his head. "It was a relief, really."

If there was relief, he was hiding it well, Hannah thought. Somehow, he looked brittle today, vulnerable. Maybe it was his position – his head leaned back against her, letting her support the weight of his head and shoulders, his throat exposed, his hair, for once, falling back from his face, leaving his features stark and bare.

He had told her he was fine, but there was that permanent slight pinch to the edges of his mouth and nose. He had hurt for so long that he had learned to ignore it, the same way he had learned to ignore the constant ache in his bad leg. But she could see the marks the pain had left on his face. And today, the lines were edged even deeper than usual… She looked down on him, loving him so fiercely that the emotion pushed at the bottom of her throat and pricked at the back of her eyes. _What can I do for you? What will you _let_ me do for you?_

"Stay here tonight," she said impulsively, caressing his face. "Don't go." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she saw the tightness come back into his face, and he sat up sharply.

Instantly, Hannah blushed a most unbecoming shade of red. She well knew the moral code he and she had grown up with, and that what she had just suggested was quite outside the perimeter of proper behavior for a well brought up young lady from a pureblood family. Of course he wouldn't approve. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me." She tried to turn away, but he had grasped her wrist and stood up.

The teakettle picked just that moment to interrupt with a loud, shrieking whistle, piercing the awkward silence. Half defiantly, without looking at him, she freed her hand from his grasp. Quickly, she walked over to the stove and took the kettle off the flame. Then she paused, her back to him, unsure what to do next. _Why did this Ex-Death Eater have to be such a stickler for protocol? She was a Squib, for heaven's sake, the rules didn't apply to her the way they would to a pureblooded witch, no one would blame him… _She could hear his footsteps as he walked up behind her.

Her eyes still downcast, she offered no resistance when he turned her around. "I know better, really, I do," she said quickly, before he had a chance to say anything. "It was just that…"

Severus trapped her face between both of his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Hannah."

Still blushing painfully, she finally looked up into his eyes. Her heart started beating a bit slower again when he didn't look as stern as she had expected. Instead, there was an unexpected gentleness in his eyes.

"I don't know if I can make you see," he said softly, almost as if to himself. "But I can think of nothing better than to stay here, with you. I would like nothing more than to take you up on that offer."

He cupped her face with his hands, holding it as if it were a precious thing, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to understand.

"There are so many things in my life that I did wrong, so many things that I regret." His thumbs caressed her cheeks. "I want to do this_ right_. Can you understand that?"

She nodded mutely, her heart thumping in her throat. That sounded like…a future. A promise, almost. She put her face against his chest, closing her eyes as he stroked her hair.

She could wait. But, by Merlin's beard, she hoped he wouldn't make her wait too much longer.

* * *

….as do we all. Snicker. For Snape, there is still one more issue to take care of before the road is clear. About which we will find out more in the next chapter, which will be quite long again … :-) 

Many thanks to lalaluu and Verity Brown for their input on this chapter.

While I am on a recommendations streak, let me point you to Bellegeste's new fic, 'The Chosen' (and no, it is not Harry.) If you don't know what a Borometz is (I sure didn't!) you owe it to yourself to find out! Her stories have made me absolutely adore Neville. So check it out!


	43. Easter Dinner

….She sat up, hugging her knees against her chest. "Well then – I want a small house and a garden, somewhere out in the country. I want someone I love living there with me - someone I can grow old with. I want to still teach. And I want to write the first great English-language Wizarding novel. There you have it. Not asking much, am I?"…  
From Chapter 26

* * *

Ten minutes before he was supposed to appear in Hannah's quarters to escort her to his aunt's cottage, Severus Snape sat on the side of his bed, lacing up his better pair of boots and having a severe case of second thoughts. 

The closer the day had come, the more he had regretted extending the invitation. Taking her to dinner with his family on a holiday would invite a certain interpretation. An interpretation that would, of course, be wholly justified.

He should not have invited her without talking to her. At first, he had not known if telling her was even relevant. Then, he had waited for the right moment to tell her, but that moment had never come. Most days, he had simply been too tired to face up to another conversation with an uncertain outcome.

Having finished with a precise knot, he sat up straight, staring at the blank wall in front of him. He would be asking much of her, more than he had a right to – he could only hope that he wasn't asking _too_ much…

Whatever the case, it was too late now to change his mind about the visit. He stood up with a sigh, took his cloak off the hook, and made sure the wards were in place. Time to go.

.-.-.-.-.

"Absolutely not." Hannah stood, arms resolutely folded across her chest. "Why can't we Floo?"

Severus looked at her impatiently. "I don't trust the Ministry, and they are monitoring the external Floo network. I would rather keep the fact that I'm going to see my mother as much a secret as possible."

"Then how about a Portkey? You've done that before." Her mouth was set firmly.

"Unlike then, I am perfectly well now, and the weather is as good as can be expected this time of year. And unlike an unauthorized Portkey, Apparition is perfectly _legal."_ He spoke with exasperated slowness. Surely she would see reason.

The expression on her face had turned to pleading. "Please, Severus, I just can't."

"I can't say that I understand the problem."

"It…it'll feel horrible. I've heard people describe it."

"It certainly doesn't feel all that much worse than taking a Portkey, and you handled that well enough."

"Have you ever heard about random body parts being left behind when anyone uses a Portkey?" she asked, a note of belligerence in her voice.

"No, but…"

"I rest my case," she interrupted him, lips firmly pressed together.

Severus ran a hand over his neck in exasperation. She was being completely unreasonable. Side-Along Apparition with a trained wizard was no more dangerous than taking a Portkey.

"Do you not trust me?" he demanded.

"It's not that; if I'd go with anyone, I'd go with you, but…" She trailed off miserably, a quiver in her voice. "Severus, I can't…"

Looking down at the bundle of dejected humanity in front of him, Severus felt himself soften. As unreasonable as her fear was, to her, it was obviously quite real. And if she didn't want to go, maybe it was all for the better in the long run.

"You want me to tell my aunt that we're not coming?"

She looked up at him with a wretched expression. "No…" He could see her being torn two directions at once.

He grasped her shoulders gently. "I'm not going to make you go if you don't want to. It will not be that hard to come up with a reasonable excuse."

At those words, he noted with vexation, she straightened up and looked at him with grim determination. "All right, I'll go. Let's just get moving before I change my mind."

He stared at her for a moment before mentally shrugging his shoulders. "After you."

They threw on their cloaks, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over them in case there were eyes watching the castle, and then they quickly walked out towards the Forbidden Forest, Hannah gloomily striding along next to him without saying a word. When they reached the Apparition point, he stopped and turned to her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"No," she said with a touch of irritation, "but I'm going to anyway. What do I have to do?"

"Just hold on to my arm."

"All right…" Nervously, she grasped his arm with both hands and squeezed her eyes shut.

Severus looked down at her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. He imagined the face of Lady Jane Grey being led to the chopping block would not have looked any more heroically resigned to a horrible fate than hers did right then.

He hesitated, and then decided that getting it over with as quickly as possible would be the kindest thing to do. "Hold on." She let out a whimper and held his arm in a vise grip. He concentrated, and then there was the horrible, but to him quite familiar, sensation of Apparition: the feeling of being squeezed through a space much too small as the pressure increased to almost unbearable levels, the feeling that just another second, and the blackness would take over…and then they materialized on the grass in front of Anwyn's cottage.

Hannah let out a sob of relief. Tears were streaming down her face.

"There," he said awkwardly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Don't – talk – to – me – right – now." Each word was pushed out through clenched teeth as she angrily wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

A few moments later she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, faint color in her cheeks. "I feel like such a drip," she said bitterly. "Or should that be such a _Squib_?"

Belatedly, he wrapped his arms around her, something he should, come to think of it, probably have done earlier. "Many wizards don't exactly relish the thought of Apparition either," he said. "I know one who twenty-three years after getting his license _still _nearly faints every time he has to Apparate."

"Do you really?" She blew her nose into her handkerchief and looked up at him with one eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smile on her face.

He paused for a moment. "Well, no, actually," he admitted with a smirk. "But it made you feel better, didn't it?"

Hannah's response was a light punch to his side. "You're terrible," she said with a shake of the head. But he noticed that she had stopped shivering and that she was trying to suppress a grin. _Good._

When she had composed herself, they headed towards Anwyn's cottage. With its sod-covered roof and gray rock walls, it blended almost perfectly into the hillside that rose behind it. Smoke rose in tendrils from the chimney, leaving the tang of woodsmoke in the crisp early-spring air. The door, deep-set into the thick walls, was opened as soon as they knocked, and his aunt stepped back to let them in.

"Welcome, Severus – I never thought I'd see the day you'd actually turn up for a holiday. Miracles never cease. And Hannah – you don't mind if I call you that? – it is so good of you to come."

"It's good of you to have me, Miss… well, it's good of you to have me," Hannah finished lamely as she blushed awkwardly. Too late it occurred to her that she had no idea how she should address his aunt. Miss? Madam? And what was her last name? It certainly wasn't Snape, and it had never occurred to her to ask.

His aunt winked at her. "Anwyn. You can just call me Anwyn." She put her arm around Hannah's waist as they walked into the parlour. "It's plain old Jones, my dear," the older witch whispered conspiratorially. "But don't worry about it, we don't stand much for convention around here anyway."

As they entered, Severus mother looked up from where she was setting a cobalt blue crock filled with daffodils on the dining table, a smile growing across her faded features. Severus walked over to her with a few strides and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. "Mother."

He turned and motioned for Hannah to come closer. "You remember Hannah Hannigan?"

"Yes, of course…"

Hannah stepped up, and the two women regarded each other nervously. Saeran stuck out a hand, then changed her mind and pulled Hannah into a quick embrace instead. "Welcome, Hannah. I'm so glad you could come.'

"I am very glad to be here." Even to herself, her voice sounded stilted.

"Please, have a seat." Saeran motioned towards the table. "Dinner won't be ready for an hour or so." She gave Hannah a tense smile. "I always tell Anwyn that a roast cooked the slow way tastes much better than one that has been spelled done. We'll have some time to visit."

When they were all seated with teacups in their hands, Saeran turned towards Hannah.

"I just wanted to thank you again for speaking for Severus at his trial. I shudder to think what…."

"It really was nothing," Hannah interrupted her, flushing with embarrassment. "Please, let's not talk about that any more."

There was a short, awkward silence until Anwyn picked up the conversation again.

"So how long have you known Severus, Hannah?"

"We met last summer, on holiday."

Anwyn's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so? I assumed you had met at Hogwarts. You're a teacher there, are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

"But you met last summer. Where was that?"

"We both stayed in St. Comgan."

"At the beach. How very romantic." Anwyn smiled at her. "So did you know that you would end up colleagues?"

"Not then."

"But here you are. What a nice coincidence." She turned to Severus, who was sipping his tea with an expression as inviting as a closed door. "It is going on a year then, isn't it? So have you two set a date yet?" she asked with a wink.

There was a clatter as Hannah's teaspoon dropped into her cup. Severus, his face growing hard, was just about to open his mouth when Saeran quickly pushed back her chair and got up with a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "We should really check on the roast," she said with a quick, nervous glance at her son. "Why don't you take a short walk with Hannah and show her around the brook, Severus? It's rather pretty this time of year. We'll call you when dinner is ready. – Anwyn?"

Severus almost expected his aunt to balk, but she followed his mother into the kitchen without protest – yet not without first giving him a knowing grin that made him want to hex her to day before yesterday.

Once they were alone, he cast a covert glance in Hannah's direction. She was sitting with her eyes glued to her teacup, stirring the tea with single-minded dedication, high color rising to her cheeks. He cleared his throat.

"Would you like to take a walk?"

She finally raised her eyes off the teacup. "I would _love_ to take a walk," she said fervently.

He retrieved their cloaks from the entry and then held open the back door. "This way."

"Are you sure it's safe?" she asked timidly as he settled her cloak around her shoulders. At Hogwarts, both were, by Dumbledore's orders, still under virtual house arrest. Even if Severus was beginning to ignore that order more and more as time went by and nothing else had happened.

"As my aunt has made abundantly clear, I've never been in the habit of spending holidays with my family. Even if Pettigrew had found out where she lives, he still would not expect me. I think we're as safe here as we are likely to be anywhere."

"Good."

As they followed the dirt path that wound its way past the kitchen garden, the conversation again died down. It was Severus who finally broke the awkward silence. "I must apologize for my aunt," he said stiffly. "She had no right to presume."

Hannah blushed again. "It's all right. She probably just meant to be funny."

Severus pressed his lips together grimly. Anwyn's ideas of what was humorous and his own were usually miles apart.

Just then, Hannah gasped with delight. "Oh, look!" She pointed ahead on the path. Golden cowslips carpeted the ground along the banks of the brook. Several hawthorn bushes were in full bloom, clouds of virginal white. The first green was just beginning to show on the trees, buds sending out tentative leaves as if to make certain that the time was right.

It _was_ rather pretty, he thought.

She slipped her hand into his as they followed the path along the copse of trees. "I have wanted to do this," she said wistfully. "To just go for a walk with you, hand in hand. Like any normal couple."

_Normal couple._ No, with the constant threat looming, their relationship had never had time for the things other couples might take for granted.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this," he said as his fingers closed around hers.

"It's rather nice right now," she said, smiling up at him. "And it won't always be like it has been. A couple more months and it'll be summer, and we can go someplace where no one will know us or look for us. And one day they'll catch Pettigrew. We have all the time in the world."

_All the time in the world._ He stopped abruptly. Well, if he was waiting for an opening, here it was. And, he thought grimly, if she decided to leave he could just blame it on his aunt's tactlessness.

Hannah looked up at him in alarm as he dropped her hand. "What's wrong? Severus?"

He swallowed before opening his mouth, which suddenly felt dry as dust. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Yes?"

He fished around for words that would soften what he had to tell her, but came up empty. "At the end of the term, I will be leaving Hogwarts."

Hannah looked at him uncomprehendingly. "You're going somewhere for the summer?"

"My departure will be permanent. I'll not be returning next year."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "I don't understand…"

"The Headmaster has come under pressure from the Board of Governors to not renew my teaching contract for next year. It appears Dumbledore was not the only one who was sent owls demanding my removal."

"He wouldn't let you go. Not after all you have done for him and the Order." Hannah looked up at him disbelievingly

"The matter may be out of his hands." Severus took a deep breath. "And even if not – I think it's time to leave." He walked away a few steps before turning to face her again.

"You have to understand - I've lived my life at the beck and call of others for a long time. I have actually contemplated leaving ever since the end of the war. Those thoughts were renewed when I felt that my continuous presence put students and staff at risk at the time Pettigrew attacked Lupin. With the positive results of my dragon pox trials, it seemed the time was right to explore my options. I sent out some letters of inquiry."

"And?"

"About two weeks ago, I received an offer of employment from a prestigious potions laboratory. They have decided to fund a full trial of my dragon pox treatment. I will teach a small group of advanced students at their institute and otherwise be free to concentrate on research."

"Congratulations." Hannah smiled up at him. "That is wonderful news."

He didn't return the smile. "There are…complications."

"What kind of complications?" There was a wary tone to her voice now.

"As I told you before, my reputation precludes employment in this country. The offer is from Bridgewater R & D in Nova Scotia."

"Canada?" Every hint of a smile had dropped off Hannah's face. "And you already decided to accept the offer."

He didn't answer. She had turned half away from him, and he could see the muscles in her face working as anger and hurt were fighting for control over her features. "You have known for two weeks, and you decide to tell me _now._" She wrapped her arms around her chest as if she were cold.

"I thought you would understand why…"

"Of course I understand," she interrupted him, her voice hard-edged and raw, "but gosh, what did you expect?" The anger seemed to be slowly losing the battle, and hurt was taking over. "That I would be happy for you to take off to some place thousands of miles away?"

"Hannah…" Gently, he turned her around and put his arms around here. But for the first time since he could remember, she didn't yield to the embrace, but stood stiffly in his encircling arms, as if only politeness was holding her there. It stung worse than anything she could have said.

"I was hoping…" He stopped.

There was no encouragement from her.

Taking a deep breath, he tried again, pushing the words out with difficulty. "I was hoping that you would come with me." At those words, he could feel her grow perfectly still in his arms, as if she did not even dare to breathe. Hurriedly, his pulse throbbing in his throat, he continued. "You were so pleased when you finally got the position at Hogwarts. And I know that there are people here you care about, and that I have no right to ask you to give all that up on my account. But I can't remain here, Hannah, and I am selfish enough to want you with me. I've made inquiries, and the Canadian Ministry would take care of all paperwork should you wish to teach there. There are several Muggle schools in the vicinity, but, I regret, no school of magic. You said you wanted to write; there would be enough money for us to buy a small house, and you could have your own study. And a garden."

There was a pause. "You said 'us'," she said softly.

To his dismay, he felt color rise in his cheeks. He knew quite well that there was one item he had left off her list of future hopes and dreams. _A small house in the country, to teach, to write, and…_

"I would not ask you to come if I were not prepared to enter into a permanent commitment," he said stiffly.

Hannah looked up at him with shimmering, questioning eyes. "Forgive me if it seems obvious," she said hesitantly, "but – are you offering to marry me?"

"I am." His voice was hoarse. "Will you come?"

There was another short pause before she answered, a pause during which his heart was beating so hard he was sure she could hear it.

"Of course. Of course I will." She smiled up at him, and her face seemed backlit – suffused with joy from the inside out. As he held her gaze, he was only dimly aware of the late afternoon sunlight falling through the branches, speckling their cloaks with dots of gold, of the flowers, of the sound of the wind in the treetops. All he knew that she was here, real and lovely and _his_. And then she was kissing him, lips touching softly as her body pressed against him; back in his arms the way she was _supposed_ to be. And he knew that there would never be another moment so perfect as long as he lived.

Hannah closed her eyes, trying to imprint the touch, smell, and sound of the moment into her memory. She would be married. To him. To Severus. True, she thought with a smile, the proposal probably ranked up there among the worst ever made, but the almost dazed look of relief on his face left her in no doubt as to whether he meant it. She herself was still dizzy from the emotional rollercoaster ride of the last few minutes. Oh, he had scared her…! She opened her eyes and returned to kissing him in earnest.

A few minutes later, he released her and straightened up. "You will want a ring, I suppose?" he asked gruffly.

"It is customary," she replied cautiously. "But it isn't necessary…"

"I have a ring." He spoke with uncharacteristic hesitation. "In my family, it is tradition to wear emeralds as the betrothal stone. I realize that those are not at all in fashion at the moment. I'll not blame you if you find the ring not to your tastes."

He brought a small green velvet box out of the pocket of his robe. The velvet had worn off at the corners, and the box gave off an indefinable aura of being ancient. Hannah drew in her breath, wondering how long exactly he had carried this around with him.

Diffidently, he sprung the top of the box. There was a studiedly casual look to his face that let her know that no matter how nonchalant he was trying to appear, this mattered deeply to him, and Hannah knew right then that she would exclaim in joy even if this was the single most ugly piece of jewelry she had ever seen.

She didn't have to pretend.

The ring looked solid without being massive. A cushion cut emerald of the finest quality was framed in a simple cutwork setting. Next to the stone, the shank of the ring was molded into a stylized leaf-and-vine pattern. Three small diamonds were inset along the vines on each side at irregular intervals, like glittering, white-fire berries.

Hannah exhaled. "Severus," she whispered, "I think this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

"It meets with your approval, then?" The formal question didn't quite cover the pleased look that ran over his face.

"I couldn't think of anything more perfect." Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. "How old is it?"

"We aren't quite sure. It was my great-grandmother's, and her grandmother's before her. We assume it goes back at least half a millennium."

As she looked at it, she could see that the gold had the warm, slightly dulled patina that comes with great age. Hannah suddenly looked up at him with concern. "Will your mother mind? This is a family heirloom…"

"My great-grandmother bequeathed it to me, as there were no other grandchildren. It is mine to give," he answered stiffly.

Hannah nodded, and then looked down again at the box. "Would you put it on?" She felt suddenly shy and close to tears.

He picked up her left hand. Carefully, he held it in his.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Hannah smiled up at him, a smile that was mostly in her eyes. "Absolutely," she whispered.

He removed the ring from the box and slid it on her finger. Hannah gasped in surprise as she felt it tighten. "It is charmed to fit itself to the finger of the wearer," he explained gruffly.

Hannah held her hand out into the sunlight, allowing the light to play across the ring, bringing out the fire in the emerald.

"It looks…quite nice on you," he said, and Hannah was pleased to discover that hers wasn't the only voice thick with emotion.

"It's beautiful." She reached up and caressed his face. "Thank you."

He caught her wrist and planted a kiss on the palm of her hand. "Is there any reason we would have to wait?" The desire to keep their association a secret had evaporated in an instant, the same second that his uncertainty about the future of their relationship had been banished for good. And he would be able to protect her much better once they were married, he told himself.

She shook her head with a smile. "I can't think of one."

"Next Saturday, then," he said decidedly. "Before the beginning of the new term."

"Do you think we could get married at Hogwarts?"

He thought for a moment – normally, he would have preferred a quick, quiet ceremony at the Ministry, but his recent experiences with that entity made that option entirely undesirable. He nodded. "I will talk to Dumbledore. If not, there is a chapel in Hogsmeade. We can work out the details later."

All of a sudden, Hannah hung around his neck. "I can't believe it," she whispered in his ear. "Oh, Severus…"

His arms were just closing around her when the strident voice of his aunt cut across the silence like a bugle blast. "DINNER'S READY!"

* * *

A/N: Thanks from my heart to everyone who reviewed, and double thanks to Verity Brown and lalaluu for making this a much smoother read! 

So there you are – the longest chapter yet, I believe. Let me know what you think!


	44. Ready?

This was one of those transition chapters that seem to suck the life-blood out of me!

* * *

"Please tell me we don't have to go back in there," Hannah said plaintively, face still pressed against Severus' neck. "Can't we run away or something?" 

Severus smirked. "And deprive my aunt of the pleasure of prying more information out of you? She is so pleased to finally be getting _at_ something. I'm afraid she gave up on me a long time ago."

Hannah looked up at him with a lifted eyebrow. "So what did you actually tell them? About me?"

He shrugged. "Just that you are a friend."

Hannah grinned to herself. Anwyn had obviously been fooled by _that_ line, hadn't she?

"Do they know yet? About your new job?"

He shook his head. "I wanted to tell you first. There'll be time enough to tell them later."

Their eyes met again, and Hannah felt like a cork on top of a wave, washed up and over with a bone-tingling, deep kind of happy. _Six more days._

"We should go," Severus said dryly, "before Anwyn appoints herself as search party."

"I suppose." Reluctantly, Hannah extricated herself from his arms. "Are you going to tell them we're engaged?" She smiled at the word, running her thumb over where she could feel the smooth metal of the ring, still strange and new on her finger.

"We'll see," he said. There was a smug smirk on his face that made her look at him with one eyebrow raised. Yet when they got within visual range of the house, he dropped her hand. Hannah tried her hardest to swat away the little mosquito of annoyance that started buzzing around inside her head. He didn't still mean to keep this a secret, did he? When they were supposed to be married within the week?

"About time, you two," Anwyn said with mock severity as they approached the house. "We wouldn't want the food to get cold, now would we?"

They sat down around the table, which already held bowls of oven-roasted potatoes and parsnips, glazed carrots, buttered asparagus, and homemade mint sauce. The door to the kitchen opened, and Saeran carried out the roast leg of lamb on a platter, the scent of rosemary and garlic wafting in a cloud around her.

"That smells wonderful," Hannah said appreciatively.

"I only hope it tastes as good as it smells," Saeran said with a flustered smile as she sat down the platter and began to carve thin, even slices off the roast.

"I'm sure it will."

"Do you like to cook, Hannah?" Anwyn asked.

"I do."

"She's a wonderful cook," Severus said as he passed his plate to his mother, watching a pleased pink rise in Hannah's cheeks.

"Lucky you," Anwyn quipped.

Severus turned to hand her the potatoes. "Next Saturday," he said as off-handedly as he could manage.

"Next Saturday _what_?" Anwyn looked at him as if he were one card short of a full deck.

"You asked if we had set a date. Next Saturday," he said, reaching for the carrots. "The wedding will be next Saturday."

There was a short pause – Severus thought with satisfaction that just seeing the open-mouthed, speechless look on Anwyn's face at that moment was more than worth the earlier aggravation – before she unfroze and he found himself pulled up out of the chair and caught in a bear hug as Anwyn planted kisses on both of his cheeks.

"Congratulations, you two! I couldn't be happier! How wonderful! I'll have to buy new dress robes! Hannah! So when? Just right now? Let me see the ring. Beautiful! We're invited, of course? Don't know how you managed, but you did well, Severus. Bless you both!" She had moved on to Hannah, crushing the laughing woman in her embrace.

Saeran had stood up and joined in the congratulations, but Severus looked at her sharply. There was something strained, slightly forced about her felicitations. He just hoped Hannah wouldn't pick up on it as Saeran gave her a quick, tense hug, and offered her best wishes.

When they finally sat down to dinner again, Anwyn started back in on the questions.

"So _where_ is the wedding going to be?"

"We haven't worked out the details yet. We will let you know as soon as we know," Severus told her shortly.

"Who's going to perform the ceremony?"

"Professor Dumbledore, we hope."

"But what if he isn't available?"

"I'll find someone else," he said with grim determination. He _would_ get married next Saturday, even if it meant practicing his considerable powers of persuasion on some hapless country parson or Registry official.

The dinner passed, with conversation consisting mainly of Anwyn asking questions that he either could not at this point answer, or that were none of her business in the first place. Yet she looked so obviously happy for them that he was at the moment much more inclined to view her with tolerance. When Anwyn started in on the wedding cake – "It is too late, of course, to bake a proper one, but with an aging charm or two we might be able to still come up with something fairly close!" – Saeran rose suddenly.

"That reminds me, we still have pudding coming. – Would you help me?" Saeran looked at Severus with a brittle smile. "We'll leave Anwyn and Hannah to chat."

He followed her into the kitchen. Saeran took down a cut-glass bowl, and, taking a small earthenware pitcher out of the fridge, poured heavy cream into it. A flick of her wand and a whisk jumped up from the counter and started haphazardly spinning around in the bowl.

"Is something the matter?" Severus said with furrowed brows, observing the way she was determinedly avoiding his eyes.

"This just seems a bit… sudden," Saeran said carefully, as she took the cover off a strawberry-rhubarb crumble that had been cooling on the counter.

"I have known her long enough."

"But she…" Saeran lowered her voice as if afraid to be overheard. "Severus, are you _certain_?"

Severus' expression had gone glacial. "And here I thought you liked Hannah," he said harshly.

"Oh, I do…" Saeran looked up at him wretchedly. "From all I know, she is a perfectly nice young woman."

"Then what seems to be the problem?"

As they heard Anwyn and Hannah's muffled laughter through the kitchen door, Saeran looked up at her son with a nervous smile. "You have always been so proud…and she's a Squib… I am just afraid…I just want to know…" She faltered. "Why are you marrying her, Severus?" She rushed the words out. "She's quite obviously in love with you, but what about you? Tell me that this has nothing to do with the fact that she has no other expectation of marriage and that you owe her a debt, and I'll be happy for you." She took a few nervous steps. "You and she both deserve better than for you to marry her out of obligation."

_Obligation?_ Severus stared at his mother, and almost laughed. Nothing could be further from the truth. _Why?_ he thought, still looking at Saeran. _Because every morning when she enters the Great Hall at breakfast time, she stops in the doorway and looks around until she finds me. And when she sees me, she smiles. Because she wants _me_, instead of what I can do for her._ _Because somehow, she can see the good in me, even if I can't._ _Because when I am with her, it feels as if my shriveled-up soul can breathe again. Because I make her happy. _

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "There is no obligation. The truth is that marrying her may be the most selfish thing I will ever do," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm afraid I am getting by far the better end of the bargain." And something leaked out into his voice that made his mother look up and gaze evenly at him for a moment before smiling.

"It is like that, then?" she said softly.

Like _what_? He had no idea what she was talking about, so he decided to just to keep his mouth shut.

Saeran smiled wider, tears in her eyes. "Good," she said with satisfaction. "I am glad." She drew him into a quick, tight embrace, her lips pecking his cheek. "Congratulations, Severus. I am so pleased for you."

She turned around to where the cream was now standing up in soft peaks, took out the whisk and handed him the bowl. "Go on, take it in. Hannah will be wondering what happened to you."

He stared at her for a moment and almost imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders before taking the bowl and rejoining Hannah in the parlor.

Women. He would never understand them.

.-.-.-.

At an hour before noon the next day, Severus was pacing in front of the gargoyle. He had requested a meeting with the headmaster, and had received a note back that Dumbledore would be glad to see him at eleven. Now he was just waiting for Hannah to arrive, and then they would talk to Dumbledore, and the cat would be out of the bag. He paced another few steps.

She arrived on time, smoothing down her robe and fruitlessly attempting to stuff a few escaping strands of hair back into her bun. "How do I look?" she asked, and he could hear the nervousness in her voice as well.

"Fine," he said distractedly. He gave the password, and together they let the stairs carry them up to Dumbledore's study.

When they knocked, the door swung open immediately.

"Severus; Hannah. Did you have a nice Easter?" the old wizard asked as he rose from his desk to greet them.

"Very nice," Hannah said with a shy smile, looking up at Severus.

"So what can I do for you?"

"Well, the thing is…" Severus said, and stopped. His Adam's apple bobbled once as he swallowed hard. "The thing is, we are to be married."

A wide smile spread across Dumbledore's face, even if he did not look at all surprised. "Wonderful news - I couldn't be more delighted. Congratulations to you both, and much joy! When is the happy event to take place?"

"This coming Saturday," Severus said stiffly. "We were hoping that you would do us the honor of officiating at the ceremony."

Dumbledore took of his glasses and rubbed the bridge of is nose. "Next Saturday, you say? I leave late this afternoon, I am afraid, for a conference in Norway, and am not scheduled to return until next Sunday."

Severus' mouth tightened. He should have expected it – of course the Headmaster would be too busy. He inclined his head stiffly. "I am sorry to have bothered you; I could of course not expect anything else on such short notice," he said, his voice emotionless. "We will find someone else."

"Hold on," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "Not so fast. As clever and important as I may be, I dare say everyone at the conference will manage to get along just fine without me for a while. I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world." He motioned them over to the two cushy chairs in front of his desk. "Do take a seat, and we can talk over the details."

After they sat down, Hannah spoke up quietly. "We were hoping to get married here at Hogwarts, sir. Do you think that is possible?"

"I don't see why not," he said thoughtfully. "How many guests are you expecting?"

"Not many," Severus said dryly.

"I assume you will at least want to invite the staff?"

Severus was just about to open his mouth to answer in the negative when out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannah looking at him. "I would like that, I think," she said softly.

He looked at her with drawn eyebrows. Finally, he gave a short nod. "If you wish." This was her wedding as well; might as well give her what she wanted. Within reason.

"I would suggest the Room of Requirement," Dumbledore continued, hands steepled in front of him. "I think the castle can be trusted to provide adequate accommodations. Three o'clock in the afternoon? How about a reception afterwards?"

Severus looked at Hannah resignedly. "Do you want a reception?"

The look on her face told him that, yes, she did, but that she was willing to give way if he was opposed.

He sighed. "A reception, then. Something simple."

"Very good," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I will let the house-elves know. Now, as for the actual ceremony. A traditional ceremony, I suppose?"

They both nodded.

"Traditional vows, the ring exchange, and then the Binding ceremony?"

"Yes." "No." They both answered at the same time.

Severus' face hardened. "No. We will not be Bound."

Hannah turned to him, eyebrows drawing together. "I don't understand. It's part of a traditional ceremony."

"Is it even possible?" Severus, ignoring her, turned to Dumbledore. "After all, she_ is_ a Squib."

"Since the ceremony uses the Bonder's magic, not that of the participants, it should not make a difference," the headmaster said. He looked at them over the top of his half-moon glasses. "I will let you two talk it over. You can let me know Friday evening what you have decided."

"I can let you know right now," Severus said in a hard voice. "We will _not_ be Bound."

"As the headmaster said, we should talk it over." Hannah's voice had gone cold.

"No. There is nothing to talk about."

"Can you at least tell me why?"

"This is non-negotiable," he said firmly. "You will just have to accept my decision."

"Fine, then," she said sharply, pushing the words out through clenched teeth. He cast a cautious glance at her, but she sat stiffbacked, hardfaced, looking down at her hands. He could see the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed away the pressure of unshed tears. She didn't say another word as he and Dumbledore discussed the time for their next meeting. As soon thereafter as politeness allowed, she stood up.

"If you will excuse me, Headmaster, I am going to return to my quarters - there is much to prepare," she said in a tight voice. "If anything else comes up, Severus can just inform me of his _decisions _later." She inclined her head in his direction and with short, rapid steps left the room.

As the door fell shut behind her, Dumbledore calmly peered at Severus over the top of his glasses for a moment. "Now correct me if I am wrong, but it appears to me that you could have handled that a lot better."

"The Binding is out of the question," he said coldly. "She will have to accept that."

"She might be more willing to accept it if you had offered her any kind of explanation."

"I am not used to explaining myself," he said stiffly. "She will just have to trust me."

"Hm." Dumbledore just continued to look at him noncommittally.

"It was her choice to leave," he said, a trifle petulantly. "Many couples choose not to be Bound these days. I am certainly not alone in that."

"I suppose you are right," Dumbledore said mildly. "But then, I'm not the one that you need to convince." He rose. "Now, you will have to excuse me. If I want to get down to the Ministry to file the necessary paperwork, I will have to hurry."

"Paperwork?"

"A legal necessity, I'm afraid, if you are to be married. It is no trouble; I am meeting my traveling companions there anyway," Dumbledore said. "Until Friday then?"

Severus nodded as he rose. "Yes. And thank you."

.-.-.-.

He walked aimlessly through the corridors for a while after he left Dumbledore's office. He knew where he should be going, but it still took him a good quarter of an hour before he finally managed to make himself knock on her door.

When she opened, he could see that her eyes were red and puffy, but the expression on her face wasn't any softer than when she had left Dumbledore's office.

"Yes?"

"May I come in?"

Without a word, she held the door open for him.

"I think we need to talk," he said stiffly as he followed her into the room.

"Funny. My impression was that you _didn't _think we needed to talk." She was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded over her chest.

"You are making a mountain out of a molehill," he said irritably.

"The Binding is the highlight of a traditional wedding ceremony. If you don't want to be Bound to me, don't you think that maybe I am at least entitled to know why?"

Severus stared down at her. "Do you even know what happens during the Binding? What it does?"

"It's a knitting together of souls," she said impatiently. "It establishes a closer connection between two people than would ever be possible by non-magical means. Pardon me if I am silly enough to want that with you."

"That is if the marriage goes well. Do you know the reason why the ceremony has gone out of fashion with anyone other than the old pureblood families?" he said sharply. "It is because you irrevocably place your future happiness into someone else's hands. You would never be able to leave the marriage without my consent."

"I'm not going to want to leave." She had that stubborn look on her face again.

"How do you know what you will feel years into the future? You may tire of me."

"Are you afraid _you_ will tire of _me_? Of living with a Squib?" she asked sharply. "Is that why? I assure you I wouldn't try to hold you if you wanted to leave."

"It has nothing to do with that."

"Then why?"

"Hannah." He grasped her by the shoulders. "My mother and father were Bound. He would not release her. Do you know the abject misery that follows when someone attempts to unilaterally sever the Bond? It is the only reason she stayed with my father. She _could_ not leave, even for my sake. I don't want that to happen to you."

"Now, was that so hard to say?" Hannah asked, her voice still sharp. "Look, I can live with not being Bound, if I have to – what I can't live with is the fact that you think you can just go ahead and make a decision that affects both of us without even asking my opinion or affording me the courtesy of an explanation. Can you understand that?"

After a moment, he reluctantly nodded. Yes, he could see her point.

Her eyes softened. "All right, then. And I shouldn't have run off like that. Sorry." She smiled ruefully at him. "As for being Bound – you are not your father, Severus. Is that what you're worried about? I have no doubt that if I ever wanted to leave, you _would _release me."

He looked at her, his mouth tightly pinched shut. The truth was that the idea of letting her go was hard to stomach even now. Several years down the road, when he would know her that much better, be that much more used to her presence, their closeness enhanced by the Bond, it might be impossible. He had seen the results of what could follow first hand. And he knew that there was much more of his father in him than he generally liked to acknowledge. He had inherited his father's pride, temper, and possessive streak right along with his nose.

She stretched up her hand and gently ran it down his cheek. "Have a bit of faith in yourself." She smiled at him. "And it's a moot point, anyway. I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

Severus hesitated. "Let me think about it for a few days," he finally said.

Hannah nodded. "Of course. But I want you to know that I have no reservations at all about being Bound to you. On the contrary. If you decide you really don't want that, I will accept your decision. But please know that this is what I would choose."

"Very well." Letting go of her shoulders, he straightened up, looking for a change of subject. He found it in the clock on her wall. "It is getting late. I suppose I should put in an appearance at lunch. Would you care to join me?"

"You and I? Walk down together?"

"Yes." It was time to do away with secrecy.

She smiled at him. "I'd love to."

As they reached the door to the Great Hall, he pulled her off to the side and stopped. "May I escort you to your chair?" he said with a formal bow as he offered her his elbow.

Hannah looked up at him, joy and concern alternating in her expression. "They will laugh at you when they find out about us," she said hesitantly. "The Squib and the Potions master. Does that bother you?"

He looked at her, his eyes slightly narrowing. Yes, it did bother him. But he would never tell her that; it would hurt her too much. The idea of the snickering, pity, and laughter that would follow in the wake of the news that he was to marry a Squib _did_ damage – he winced inwardly – his pride to a certain extent. He felt disloyal even having the thought. She had certainly already put up with a lot worse for his sake. And the truth was that if that was the price he had to pay, so be it. It would be more than worth it.

"Many will think you got the worst part of the deal," he said with a smirk. "You'll have comments coming your way as well. You_ are_ marrying a former Death Eater."

She studied him gravely for a moment. "_The Squib and the Death Eater," _she intoned solemnly, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye. "Sounds like a fine title for a Wizarding novel. You think anyone would buy it?"

He laughed out loud, a short, honking laugh that had several students in the area turning around. "Don't get any ideas," he said with one eyebrow raised. "Ready to face the tribunal?"

She grinned back at him. "Ready."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to lalaluu and Verity Brown for their beta-ly touch! 

Re: the wedding cake - my friend Clare who go married last year started making her wedding cake a couple of months before the wedding. Apparently, English wedding cake bears a startling resemblance to-- American readers, brace yourself -- fruitcake, covered in marzipan. To be really good, it has to age. Personally, I think fruitcake is much maligned - I make a killer fruitcake. ;-) Every Christmas I make about a dozen to give as gifts. People have told me every fruitcake joke on the planet - and then they try mine, and want to get on the distribution list for next year, LOL. So there. ;-) (Of course those bricks sold at Christmas time through gift catalogs bear very little resemblance to a _real _fruitcake, LOL.)


	45. Running the Gauntlet

Hannah took a deep breath as they walked through the doors of the Great Hall, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Severus bent his head down towards her. "If you can manage, _try_ not to look as if you are about to drop from fright," he whispered with a smirk.

"Easy for you to say," she whispered back. "I'm just glad they'll have a week to get used to this idea before I have to face them in class again."

Strangely enough, he seemed to have lost all nervousness as soon as he walked through the door, straight-backed, glittering determination in his eyes. They walked by the Slytherin table, where all conversation stopped as the students saw their Head of House stroll past with a woman on his arm. And not just any woman – the resident Squib English teacher. Hannah flinched under the unrelenting stares.

"Hold on," he said in a low voice.

"They're all looking at us," Hannah said, trying her best to appear nonchalant and relaxed. She was afraid she was failing miserably.

"Of course they are," Severus said, having the audacity to actually sound amused.

He steered her past the entire length of the Slytherin table toward the High Table. Closest to them, near the end of the table, perched Nettie Nequam. The sharp-faced Ancient Runes mistress watched them approach with slack-jawed amazement.

"Ah, Professor Nequam. Beautiful day, isn't it?" Severus said in his silkiest voice as they walked past. For a second, Hannah thought that the older witch might succumb to apoplexy right then and there.

"You are actually enjoying this, aren't you?" she whispered to him, halfway between an accusation and a grin.

"One has to take the small pleasures of life where one can find them," he said with mock severity as he escorted her to her seat on the far side of the table. He solicitously pulled out the chair for her. "Well, here we are."

"Thank you," Hannah said under her breath, color creeping into her cheeks as she sat down.

Flitwick, perched on the chair next to her, looked on in curiosity as Severus gave her a formal bow and then turned to walk back to his own seat.

"Well, that's a new one," he said in puzzlement, watching the Potions master's retreating back. "What's got into him?"

Hannah, keeping a decorous silence, blushed even brighter.

The Charms master looked her over curiously. His gaze alighted on her left hand, now nervously drumming on the tabletop. He gave her a sharp look.

"Is that a new ring?" he asked. "I can't recall seeing that before."

"It is," Hannah said, suddenly looking up, a quiet glow starting to rise through the self-conscious awkwardness. "Severus gave it to me."

Flitwick gaped for a moment. "Does that mean that you are…?"

"Engaged. Yes," she said, and she was smiling now, happiness rising up like champagne bubbles. It felt so good, just telling him.

Flitwick's face erupted into a radiant beam. "Engaged? To Severus? Well, I'll be… He finally made up his mind, did he? Congratulations! Oh, I'm so happy!" There were tears in his eyes as he pumped her hand vigorously, shaking it in both of his. "The best news I've had in ages!"

Hannah felt herself tearing up, too. There would be so many who would not be happy, who would consider the whole thing to be some kind of joke. Even Severus' mother hadn't seemed wholly pleased at first. And she didn't even want to think about what her father would say when he found out. The approval and childlike excitement of this small wizard whom she loved whole-heartedly meant more to her than she could ever say. She leaned over and hugged him fiercely. "You're a perfect dear, you know that?" she whispered. "Thank you."

Severus, at the other end of the table, wondered if the Charms master had _any_ idea of how well his high-pitched voice carried through the expanse of the Hall.

"Well," he heard Minerva McGonagall's prim voice from his right side. "It appears congratulations are in order." He looked over to find her staring at him, lips pressed together tightly, looking flustered. "I must say, Severus, this is somewhat sudden." She smiled a thin-lipped smile. "When did this happen?"

Sinistra, on his other side, looked up from her plate and snorted. "Oh, come now, Minerva," she said disbelievingly. "It didn't take the Department of Mysteries to figure this one out."

He cast a severe glance at the Astronomy mistress before turning back to McGonagall. "It is a …recent development," he said stiffly

"Well," she said, still looking somewhat disgruntled. "My best wishes, then."

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head. His guess was that her attitude had less to do with disapproval and more to do with feeling left out of the loop. She would come around.

On his other side, Sinistra grinned at him and winked. "About time," she said before returning to her pork chops.

He cast a tentative look over to the Slytherin table. In stark contrast to the hum of voices that had erupted everywhere else in the Hall when Flitwick had exclaimed his delight, the Slytherins were curiously silent. Some of the students sat stiff-backed, talking to each other in quiet disbelief. Two of the seventh years stared at him with outright disapproval on their faces; others turned away, not meeting his glance at all. There were titters and whispers all over the rest of the Hall, as the students who had remained over the Easter holiday discussed what was obviously the news of the day.

Well, it was what he had expected, he reminded himself. Most students, he thought with a bitter smirk, would have already had their worldview turned upside down by the simple fact that he had actually found someone who wanted to marry him. That that someone was the Squib Composition mistress just added an extra dimension to the sensation.

When the meal was finally over, he stood up, only to find the rest of the staff converging on him. Somehow, Hannah ended up next to him, washed in his direction like flotsam in front of a wave, and together they accepted the best wishes of their colleagues, offered with varying degrees of sincerity. Remus Lupin, still looking peaky and ill after the full moon, nevertheless offered his congratulations with genuine pleasure, while Vector seemed to have trouble suppressing a smirk. The felicitations were accompanied by a barrage of questions. Not five minutes later, at the first lull in the onslaught of well-wishers, Severus leaned over towards Hannah. "Can we go?" he whispered sharply. He had had about all the collegial conviviality he could take.

"_Please_," she whispered back fervently.

They had made their excuses, and Severus was guiding her along the Slytherin table, his hand against the small of her back, when one of the students got up and approached them – Agila Slighcarp, the Slytherin Seeker. The slim, wiry girl stopped in front of them. The rest of the table watched her with curiosity.

"Sir, is it true that you are getting married?" There was a nervous quiver in her voice. She was obviously quite aware of all the eyes looking in her direction.

He looked down his long nose at her. "I don't see what concern of yours that is, Slighcarp, but yes."

"I - I just wanted to wish you all the best, Sir," she said, and turned to Hannah. "You, too, Professor Hannigan." She held out her hand. Hannah took it, feeling tears stinging at the back of her eyes again.

"Thank you," she said softly. She had always liked the Slytherin girl, and it came as no surprise to her that Agila would be the first one to express her loyalty to her Head of House. She could have hugged the girl right then – the cold reception of their news at the Slytherin table must have hurt Severus; after all the years he had spent protecting them and serving them to the best of his ability he deserved better. That Miss Slighcarp had had the courage to get up and offer congratulations would go a long way towards repairing that damage. Not to mention that her status as Seeker meant that her doing so made it much more likely that other Slytherins would 'forgive' their Head of House for doing something so unthinkable as to marry a Squib.

Severus, a rare hint of a smile etched around the corners of his mouth, inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you. Now if you will excuse us?" His hand still on the small of her back, he steered her out of the Great Hall and safely out of the way of most of the foot traffic.

"Well, we made it," Hannah said with relief.

"Indeed we did." He allowed himself a smirk as he recalled the flabbergasted expression on Nequam's face. Over all, it had gone better than he had expected. Yes, there had been the requisite 'Yuk, _Snape_—can you imagine?' comments and exaggerated retching sounds coming from the Gryffindor table, but he had been more than pleased when Slighcarp had gotten up and shaken Hannah's hand. In view of the icy atmosphere of the Slytherin table, that had taken more courage than any of the Gryffindors had to offer.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," she said with a sigh. "I was a nervous wreck."

"Will you be all right? I'm afraid I've taken too much time away from my duties over the last few days, so I'll have to leave you to your own devices until later."

She smiled at him. "I'll be fine. When will I see you? At dinner?"

"I'll meet you in your quarters before then." He was most decidedly _not_ looking forward to dinner. Right now, taking meals in the Great Hall was like eating in a goldfish bowl, and neither he nor Hannah had done more than pick at their food during lunch. He would have liked nothing better than to skip the communal meal and just have a quiet dinner in her rooms. If he hadn't felt the importance of presenting a strong front and not letting those who disapproved know how much the stares were getting to him, he would have suggested just that. He inwardly sighed. Maybe tomorrow.

.-.-.-.

When he stepped out of her fireplace later that day, he saw Hannah hastily stuff something she had had in her hands behind a sofa cushion before getting up.

"What was that?" he asked as she greeted him with a kiss.

"What was what?" she asked innocently.

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing." He did not find her expression at all convincing.

Looking at her through narrowed eyes, he walked over to the sofa and reached behind the cushion. Hannah made a sudden movement as if to stop him, but paused, lips pinched together in chagrin, when he pulled out a book.

Severus looked at the cover – _Encyclopaedia of Potions Ingredients, Vol. 1: Aardvark Tongues to Dugbog Teeth_.

He looked at her in incomprehension. "You are reading Potions books?"

"Well, yes," she said defensively. "So what?"

"What other books have you read?"

She paused for a moment before answering in a low voice. "_Magical Drafts and Potions_. And _Potions Preparation_."

"Why?"

There was exasperation in her voice as she answered. "Is that really so hard to figure out?"

"You should have asked me. I could have recommended something more suitable. _Potions Preparation_ is in large parts outdated."

"All right." She was silent for a moment before looking up at him. "We could trade off," she said with a sudden grin. "You tell me what Potions manuals would give me the best idea of what it is that you do, and I give you some of _my_ favorite books to read."

"Muggle novels?" There was obvious distaste in his voice.

"I promise I'll be selective. I bet I can find some books you'll enjoy. Is it a deal?"

He barely managed to suppress a sigh. But if she could go through the trouble of learning about his area of expertise, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to gain some exposure to the things _she_ enjoyed. "It's a deal," he said resignedly.

"Good."

He didn't think the enthusiasm in her voice boded at all well. But too late now. "Are you ready for dinner, then?"

She gave him a wry look. "As ready as I'm going to be."

.-.-.-.

Dinner brought a repeat of the lunchtime performance, with the added bonus that Filius Flitwick insisted on switching places with Severus and wouldn't take no for an answer. With ill humor, Severus had finally taken his seat next to Hannah. The meal was a strained affair. Hannah fervently hoped that the novelty factor of their engagement would wear off quickly - she couldn't take much more of this.

Somehow, they made it through, and then made their way up to her quarters in unspoken relief that the public part of the day was over. Once safely back inside their own four walls, they wrote out invitations to the few people they wanted to witness the ceremony – Severus was right, without inviting the staff their guest list would have been woefully short. Owls flew off towards the south, taking the missives away to Hannah's Aunt Karen, Severus' aunt and mother, and Flitwick's sister Filia. As for the staff, Severus drew up a brief announcement to hang up in the staff room. He was not about to invite each one individually.

Then had come talk about what would come after the wedding…

"I suppose if we have to, we could just stay here," she said. "It would be easiest." _But please, let's not_, she thought. The idea of having their wedding night in a school full of colleagues and students who would know exactly what they were up to was shudder-inducing.

It seemed that Severus concurred. "I would prefer to go away for the night."

"Good," she said with relief. "Since we won't get a proper honeymoon, it would be nice to at least have a night to ourselves."

"So where, then?" he asked.

"We could go back to St. Comgan."

"I am not staying in that inn again," Severus said dismissively.

"The place I stayed at might be available, if you don't mind Muggle lodgings. This isn't exactly high season; it shouldn't be hard to come up with something. Or do you have a better idea?"

He shook his head. "That'll do."

"Good. I'll make the arrangements." She smiled at him. "Just you and I. I can't wait."

His smile in response was somewhat tightlipped. After the 'Binding' fiasco, it had occurred to him that there might be other topics that it might be wise to discuss before the wedding took place.

"What?" she asked.

"There are a few more issues I would like to clear up."

"Well?" she asked cautiously. "What is it?"

"After the wedding, will it bother you to share my rooms in the dungeons? I am still the Slytherin Head of House; I will need to remain where I am within easy reach of our common room."

She shook her head. "It will only be for a couple of months, anyway. It's fine. – What else?"

"When we get married, will you take my name or would you prefer to keep your own?" That idea was a fairly recent cross-over from the Muggle world, but – better ask. He held his breath. This was one point on which he had rather strong opinions.

"Yours. Hannah Lydia Snape – it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

He let out a breath, and swallowed. "Yes," he said softly, "it does."

For a moment, it was quiet. Then Hannah spoke up. "You know, I have no idea what _your_ middle name is."

"I don't use my middle name," he said shortly. "Never have."

She waited for a moment, but nothing else was forthcoming.

"Severus," she finally said in exasperation, "are you going to tell me?"

He looked at her as if debating if to answer. "I was named after both my grandfathers. Another Snape family tradition."

"So Severus, I assume, was your grandfather on the Snape side. What about your grandfather on the Jones side?"

Again, he cast a long glance at her before surrendering. "Ioan," he said resignedly.

"So?" she asked. "That's a good Welsh name. What's wrong with that?"

He just stared at her with the same sort of longsuffering look he employed when waiting for a dunderhead student to arrive at a readily apparent conclusion. She would get it. Any moment now.

Finally, comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh." She smiled at him sympathetically. "_S.I.S._ Those initial _are_ a bit unfortunate, aren't they?"

Well, yes, they were. He looked away in embarrassment. "Can you imagine what Potter and Black would have made of that?" he muttered. _'Snivellus'_ had been bad enough.

She put her hand on his arm. "You know," she said lightly, "you aren't the only one who got teased. I got my share of that as well."

He turned back to her, his eyebrows lifted. "You? Why?"

Smiling a half-smile, she shrugged her shoulders. "Just imagine you are a scrawny eleven-year-old, and you were raised in the magical world, and then all of a sudden you are sent off to a Muggle school in a foreign country, and you just don't fit in. And the first two letters of your first and last name spell out 'HaHa'. I assure you my dorm-mates figured that one out rather quickly. It got old in a hurry."

She nestled against him as he put his arm around her shoulder. "No one was as vicious as that bunch Remus ran around with, though," she said, indignation in her voice. "Small wonder you kept your full name a secret." She looked up at him as he held her tightly for a moment. "Just so you know – I love your name. And I love you."

"Heaven knows why," he answered, only half joking.

"Oh, _I _know why," she said softly.

He closed his eyes as she kissed him gently, her hand lightly touching his cheek. _She really was the dearest thing…._

"So," she asked a moment later, pulling back with a smile, "was that all, then?"

He cleared his throat. "One more thing."

"Well?"

"I thought we should talk about…" He stopped.

"Talk about what?"

He looked at her grimly. "Children. Do you want children?"

Hannah cast him a cautious glance. "I suppose I always assumed that if I met the right man I would have some eventually. – How about you? Do you want children?"

"No." The word came out with emphasis. "No children."

Hannah shrugged her shoulders. "All right. No children, then."

Taken aback, he sat up a little. "That doesn't bother you?"

A lopsided grin grew across Hannah's face. "It may shock you, Severus, but the general idea that you might not want children does _not_ come as a complete and utter surprise to me."

He harrumphed at that. But there was remaining uneasiness – if she wanted children, would she hold it against him in a year or two?

She must have seen something in his face, because she turned to fully face him. "Look, I was raised by a father who only had a child to make his wife happy. I am not about to put either you or our unfortunate offspring through that. If you don't want children, it's okay. Really. I have you. That's enough." Her smile was a little misty, and he all of a sudden discovered a rather largish lump in his throat. There seemed to be nothing to do but to kiss her in return.

.-.-.-.

When Severus left later that evening, Hannah turned to walk back to her bedroom, a smile on her face. Any time she let herself think about the last few days, her head was still spinning. Things had happened so quickly. Her smile grew wider – _only five more days…._

There was something different about him, now that he had proposed – he seemed surer of himself, less reserved. And she had actually made him laugh today.

When the fire roared to life again in a blaze of green, Hannah turned around with a smile. "Did you forget someth…"

The smile died on her lips when the figure in the fireplace turned out to be someone quite unexpected.

"Father," she said uncertainly, as her visitor brushed the ashes from his jacket.

"Hannah." His face was grim.

"What are _you _doing here?"

"Offering my best wishes, of course." The corners of his mouth were turned down. "Imagine my surprise when one of the Registry clerks stopped by my desk this afternoon to congratulate me on the upcoming nuptials of my very own daughter. He quite relished telling me all the juicy details, as well. You and that Death Eater. When exactly were you going to tell me?

"Later," she said, her face hard. "Much later. I was under the impression that the news would not bring you much joy."

"You're right." He took a few menacing steps. "It doesn't. And I cannot allow you to go through with it."

"I'm an adult. I don't need your permission."

"You forget that you are a Squib." An unpleasant smile spread over his face. "As you reminded me in front of, oh, a few hundred people or so not too long ago."

Fear crept up her spine like icy fingers. Her eyes flickered to the door. "Just leave me alone, Father. Can't you just forget that you had a daughter? That's what you told me you would do."

He shook his head. "You have a distressing habit of popping up at the most inconvenient times. No, as long as you insist on running around with that Death Eater, simply forgetting you ever existed is not an option. So, my dearest daughter," he lifted his wand, and a second later caught Hannah as she crumpled, "I'm afraid you are coming with me."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to Verity Brown for whipping the thing into shape, to lalaluu for finding backwards quotation marks and for general encouragement, and to Bellegeste for telling me that pillows belong on beds, not on sofas (and other Britpicking bits and pieces.) Plus this entire chapter is Verity's fault – I originally had it summed up as a single paragraph at the end of the last chapter. So there you have it. 

Now that you finished this chapter and want something _good _to read, let me point out the fact that Bellegeste has a new one-shot out (The Moment), and that if you haven't looked at whitehound's "Mood Music, aka Sound is a Horse", you should. Really.

To everyone who had hoped that they would get married before the bad guys showed up again – so sorry! But I promise there'll be some more of them together as a couple (finally) before the end.


	46. Bait

When Hannah woke up, she was lying on a bed in a room she didn't recognize. As soon as she tried to sit up, she found that her body lay motionless; the only parts she could move were her head and neck.

Heart beating wildly, she looked around. The room was dreary, empty except for the cast-iron bedstead and a utilitarian bedside table. Old-fashioned wallpaper, strewn with yellowing cabbage roses and peeling around the edges, covered the walls. A tiny window, set high in the wall, admitted dim light into the room. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was. How long had she been here? Where was she?

"Father?" she called out in a panicky voice. "Are you there?"

In response, the door opened. "Well, look at that. It seems Sleeping Beauty has awakened at last." He was eyeing her coldly. "I was beginning to think you would sleep all day."

He was holding a glass of water and a plate in his hands. "Are you hungry?"

"What do you want with me? Where am I?" Hannah said, near tears.

"One question at a time," he said brusquely. "So – where are you? In a Ministry safe house, the whereabouts of which are Unplottable and only known to a handful of Aurors. And I prefer to keep it that way, so I am afraid that is all the information you're going to get."

"What time is it? How long have I been here?" From the small patch of grey sky visible through the window, she knew it was daytime, but she had no idea how long she had been knocked out. Severus would be so worried when she turned up missing. An icy finger crept back up her spine. That was assuming he was still safely at Hogwarts. Anything could have happened while she had been unconscious.

"Long enough." He put the glass and the plate, holding a sorry-looking ham sandwich, down on the bedside table. "And I'm afraid you will have to accept my hospitality for a while longer."

"Is Severus all right? What do you want with me?"

"I told you, one question at a time," he repeated irritably. "What do I want with you? I told you. I can't let you marry that Death Eater."

She let out a breath – if he was still worried about the marriage, Severus had to still be safe. "What are you proposing to do, then? Keep me captive here for the rest of my life?" she said bitterly.

"Oh, not at all," her father said with a nasty smile. "We only need you until your dearest love comes looking for you. The…other party and I agree that you make marvelous bait."

There was a fanatical glitter in his eyes that made her take a sharp breath. "Other party? Bait?"

"All in good time," he said with a confident smirk.

"So you are still after Severus, are you?" she said bitterly. Stupid question. His hatred for Severus had long ago left all sense and reason in the dust.

"Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be? He deserves to die. Ten times over."

"How about me? Once I've outlived my usefulness, are you going to kill me, too?" She wouldn't put it past him at this point. He seemed capable of anything.

He hesitated. "No. I don't think I could." For a moment, he was quiet. "You look too much like your mother." The words came out with a raw edge as his face contorted as if in pain. "So much like her."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and moved a strand of hair off her face. "You have her smile, do you know that?" he said, his voice softening.

Hannah just looked at him, her face hard.

"She had that same little dimple right by the corner of her mouth when she smiled," he said, more to himself than to her. "It would only be there for a split second, and then it would disappear – you had to know when to look to catch it…"

"She wouldn't have liked this, you know," Hannah said carefully, watching his face. It wouldn't do to push him too far right now. "She would hate what you are doing."

His mouth contorted. "What do you know about anything? You barely knew her at all."

"I remember her, Father. I was thirteen, not five. I remember her face, her voice. I remember what she was like. I know she would have…"

"_You know nothing_." Frank cut her off, his hand slicing through the air in a gesture of finality. He got up and walked a few paces. For a minute, there was raw anger on his face, and then that faded away and was replaced with a grim, satisfied smile as he looked down on her. "And soon that will be literally true. I'm going to Obliviate you when we are done. You won't remember anything that happened – not Snape, not me, not even your name. You will forget everything that ever tied you to the magical world, and you'll be able to build a _new_ life in the Muggle world, where you belong. It will be best for both of us."

"I _don't _belong there." She looked at him through angry tears, trying to hold on to control of her voice. "How dare you? I am your daughte_r_. _Her _daughter." Squib or no Squib, the world of magic was her heritage. To forget all that made her who she was, all the things in her life, good and bad, that had shaped her into the person she was today; to forget everyone she cared about – friends, family, colleagues, even Severus…the idea seemed unbearable.

"Well, you don't belong in_ this_ world. You're a Squib," Frank said. "A Muggle at heart." His eyes narrowed, and his face started turning an ugly liver color around the edges. "How dare _I_? – How dare Dumbledore vouch for a Death Eater? How dare the Wizengamot let a killer go free? How dare they put him back into service to commit more atrocities? How dare Snape expect to be forgiven for what he has done? And how dare _you_ associate yourself with such a man?"

"Father, I keep trying to tell you, Severus…"

"Did he ever tell you about Daphne Greengrass?" Frank interrupted her coldly.

Hannah hesitated. "No, but…"

"Of course he wouldn't. Let me tell you, then." Frank sat down on the side of the bed again. "But before I start…," he pointed at the sandwich, "do you want to eat?"

"No, thank you," Hannah said stiffly. She wasn't at all sure that anything that went down at the moment would actually stay down.

Frank shrugged. "Suit yourself. Well, anyway – we got the memory off Yaxley when we arrested him a few months ago. Greengrass was one of Snape's students. A seventh year; during the last year of the war, when Voldemort decided that there was to be no more fence-sitting among those families with ties to the Dark side. The Greengrasses obviously decided that they wouldn't throw their lot in with a megalomaniac psychopath, and so they fled the country. Haven't seen hide nor hair of them since."

He picked up the sandwich. "If you're not going to eat…" He took a bite. "Anyway," he said while he chewed, "they made the assumption that their daughter would be safe at Hogwarts. For a while, at least. I'm sure they were going to come for her eventually, but that's neither here nor there." He swallowed the bite and licked his lips. "Snape's Death Eater pals got Daphne during an Herbology outing. Took her from behind one of the greenhouses. They brought her before Riddle later that night. He spent a while working her over, feeding her fears, taunting her, teasing her, until she was a shaking, quivering bundle at his feet, begging for mercy. 'Will anyone speak for her?' he asked, then. 'For the traitors' daughter? Anyone at all?' And he pointed to one of the Death Eaters. 'How about you?' he said. 'You know her. Take off your mask; let her see you.' – It was Snape. You should have seen the pitiful look of relief on her face when he took off his mask and she saw that ugly mug of his. Your sweetheart was her teacher, you see. Her Head of House. She was one of his Snakes. _He would protect her, wouldn't he_?" Frank's voice had gone high and nasal, imitating a girl's, a frightened girl's. "_He would take care of her, wouldn't he? _She trusted him. And you know what he did, that savior of hers?" His face twisted into a jeering mask. "He said 'You disgust me,' in that inimitable sneer of his, and then he killed her. _Avada Kedavra_. Just like that." He snapped his fingers.

Hannah looked at him, tears in her eyes. _I think I made a mistake_, she thought. _I should have let Severus talk when he wanted to tell me about the things he has done. I thought it would be easier for both of us if he didn't. I think I was wrong._

She swallowed hard. _He shouldn't have to carry the weight of memories like these alone… He cares about those kids so much…She was one of _his_…_ For a moment she hated fiercely those who had put him in a position where he had had to make choices like this."Don't you see that she was dead anyway?" she said, her voice threatening to choke off. "There was no way he could have saved her. At least she had an easy, painless death. Voldemort would have not been so merciful, I think. It was the best he could do."

"How do you know? He could have tried. He _should_ have tried." Frank's voice was hard.

"But he…"

"Try telling that to someone who cared about her," Frank interrupted her with a sneer. The half-crazed glint had gone out of his eyes, replaced by cold disdain. "He has brainwashed you to where you will forgive him anything, has he, then?" He looked at her with disgust. "Even the murder of children. But there are some things that shouldn't be forgiven. Ever."

"So why didn't you push for a new trial?" Hannah asked, the corners of her mouth curling down. "If you finally had proof? Someone, unlike your previous 'witnesses', who had actually seen his face? It must have been what you were waiting for."

"Because I couldn't have got a conviction," Frank said bitterly. "Dumbledore would just have shown up with the bloody Potter boy again and said the same thing you just did, and there would have been a hung jury. I'm not that stupid. No, I've given up on the Wizengamot."

"So the Head of Magical Law Enforcement is a law unto himself?" Hannah asked sharply. "Is that it?"

"If the system doesn't work, I will see that justice is done, yes," Frank said, eyes narrowing. "Well," he said, standing up again, "I think I better get to the office for a while."

He turned in the doorway, and pointed to a small door set into the wall. "I am going to let you move around in here. You will find a bathroom through that door. But don't get any ideas. All the doors and windows are well warded and protected by silencing charms." With a wave off his wand, the invisible weights that had held her immobile lifted. "I'll be back in a few hours. Hopefully I'll know more by then."

"Don't hurry back on my account," Hannah said bitterly.

.-.-.-.

He hadn't been worried when she didn't appear for breakfast. It _was _Easter break, and she was not by nature a morning person. She might have taken the opportunity to sleep in. And he certainly couldn't blame her for skipping the meal – he had, after all, been sorely tempted to just have Gwinny bring a tray to his room. He had been occupied the rest of the morning with replenishing Madam Pomfrey's supply of burn ointment and strengthening elixir, and hadn't given Hannah's absence another thought until lunch.

When she didn't show up for lunch, either, he made his way up to her rooms with a growing feeling of uneasiness. There was no answer to his knock. When he enquired of the portraits in the corridor, he drew a blank – none of them had seen her that day. He spoke the password that lifted the ward on her door, and cautiously opened. Nothing.

A short time later, Snape, in a swirl of black robes, burst through the door of McGonagall's study.

"Severus." McGonagall stood up from where she had been discussing requisition ledgers with Remus Lupin. "Good Lord, what is it?"

"Hannah. I can't find her anywhere."

"Have you checked her rooms?"

"What kind of idiot do you take me for?" he snarled. "Of course I have."

"And?"

"Nothing. No one has seen her all day. Not the portraits, not the house-elves." He paced restlessly in front of her desk.

"A shopping trip, maybe?" Lupin asked. "I'm sure she has lots to do before the wedding. She might have left early."

Snape looked down his long nose at Lupin, his lips pressed together tightly. "She would _never_ have just left for the day without telling me."

"Is there any sign that there is foul play involved?" Minerva asked.

"Other than the fact that she has disappeared into thin air?" He was nearly shouting now. "No! Isn't that enough?"

At that moment, there was a slight 'pop', and Gwinny materialized in the middle of the room. The down-turned ears and woebegone expression on her face as she cowered before the Potions master made him draw in a hissing breath.

"Speak up, elf," he demanded. "What is it?"

"Well, Gwinny thinks you ought to know…" It was plain the elf thought her news would not be well received. "Master Snape asks Gwinny to check Mistress Hannah's quarters…"

"Speak up, I said!"

"Well, Sir, Gwinny always folds up Mistress' night clothes and puts them in her drawer. Neatly-like. Mistress has very pretty night clothes. Shiny, soft…"

"Get to the point," Snape interrupted her harshly.

"They's still in the drawer, the way they was yesterday. Mistress always leave them under her pillow in the morning for elves to put away." The elf looked up at Severus helplessly. "And the bed not be touched, either. Master says he wanted to know…"

The Potions master's mouth had set tightly. "Is anything else out of place? Or missing?"

"Just Mistress Hannah," the elf said, great big teardrops rolling from her enormous eyes.

Severus turned sharply to the wall, breathing hard. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be all right," he heard the quiet voice of Remus Lupin. "She'll be back."

Snape spun around savagely. "And you know that how, exactly?" _Keep your opinions to yourself, Lupin. And your hands. _Any touch right now was enough to threaten his composure.

Behind him, Minerva had thrown a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. "Filius, a word in my office, please?"

"Do you think Pettigrew…?" Lupin asked, taking a step back.

"How?" Severus interrupted him, resuming his pacing pattern. Four steps to the left. Pivot. Four steps to the right. "How could he have got her out without being seen?"

Flitwick stepped out of the fireplace and dusted himself off. With a quick whisper, McGonagall filled him in on what was going on.

"The portrait outside her door doesn't even recall the door opening since last night. He might have dozed off, of course. But every portrait, ghost, and house-elf in Hogwarts is on the lookout for Pettigrew. And the Hogwarts Floo system is closed to outside travel."

"A Portkey?" Flitwick suggested.

"It is possible," he said. "Not likely, though. To make a Portkey to inside her rooms, he would have needed to be quite familiar with the exact surroundings. Even if he knows where her quarters are located, it isn't likely that he has ever been inside. I could be wrong, of course."

"If he managed to sneak into Hogwarts at all, he could have used the internal Floo to get into her rooms," McGonagall said, looking as if she wished the thought had not occurred to her. "Any deserted office would have done. But still, you would have thought if he had dragged a full-grown woman out of the castle,_ somebody_ would have noticed…"

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, feeling like something was slowly ripping in his chest. The discussion was futile. No matter how he had taken her, the point was that she was gone. And that she could be anywhere, and that he had no way of finding her.

"There is another possibility," Flitwick said, slowly wringing his hands.

"Yes?" McGonagall asked.

"Well," the Charms master looked up at Severus, an uncomfortable expression on his face, "since the Ministry oversees Hogwarts, Ministry officials can establish a Floo connection to the school."

Severus had gone very still. "And her father is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement," he said very softly. "And Dumbledore went to the Ministry yesterday to file papers for our wedding."

"Afraid so," Flitwick said wretchedly. "Word might have got around…."

Severus had already taken a few steps towards the door.

"Where are you going?" McGonagall said, a look of alarm on her face.

"To pay Frank Hannigan's place of employment a visit," he said through clenched teeth.

McGonagall hurriedly picked up her cloak. "Wait, I'm coming with you." She turned to Flitwick and Lupin. "Would you two search the school again? Ask if anyone has heard or seen anything. Send a Patronus should you hear anything new." She hurried out the door and took off after Severus, who was well ahead of her, with long strides heading towards the Apparition point near the Forbidden Forest.

When she stepped way from the Apparition area on the left side of the Atrium inside the Ministry, she saw Severus up ahead, already getting his wand registered. He was pinning on a silver visitor's badge with ill-concealed impatience.

"Would you wait a second?" McGonagall huffed as she caught up with him, pushing past the people queuing up to use the fireplaces. She handed her wand to the security wizard and turned to Severus. "Surely a few seconds more or less will not make a difference?" He didn't answer, but strode off as soon as she received her badge and her wand back. Good thing, Minerva wryly thought, that she at least had the height and long legs to keep up with him without too much difficulty. Poor Flitwick would not have stood a chance.

He pushed the button for the second level as soon as they stepped into the lift, and the golden grille closed slowly. Standing next to him, McGonagall looked up with trepidation at his white, set face. "Severus, please promise me that…"

"I didn't ask you to come, Minerva," he interrupted her harshly. When the voice announced 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headqu…" he was out before the door had even opened half way.

Without so much as a glance at the curious eyes that followed his progress along the rows of cubicles that made up Auror Headquarters, Severus made his way to the back of the room where the offices for the senior officials were located.

It didn't take long to locate the ornate mahogany door which proclaimed 'Frank D. Hannigan, Head of Magical Law Enforcement" in large, golden letters. Snape opened it without so much as a knock. A small, balding wizard rose from behind his desk as the entered.

"May I help you?" he asked in a quavering voice.

"I am here to see Hannigan," Severus hissed. "Now."

"Do you have an appointment?" the small wizard asked and turned the page on the large desk calendar in front of him. "I have no one down for…"

Severus, both hands resting on the edge of the desk, paused for a split second, eyes half closed. Then, as if deciding he had given the secretary as much time as could possibly be spared, he straightened up and with an impatient, dismissive gesture walked past the desk and towards the impressive-looking frosted glass door that Minerva took to be the entrance to Hannigan's inner sanctum. There was nothing else to do but follow him.

"Hey! You can't do that!" they heard the whiny voice of the secretary complain as he scrambled after them. "This is most irregular…" but Severus paid no attention, and then they were through the door.

"Snape." Hannigan looked up with a hard smile as they entered the room. "What a pleasant surprise."

* * *

Sorry, but my updates seem to have slipped to every two weeks – I apologize, but with real life being rather busy at the moment, it's the best I can do! Plus I still feel like I am slugging through molasses when writing – I can stare at the screen for two hours and have two sentences to show for it. Sigh. 

Thanks again to Verity Brown, lalaluu, and Bellegeste for making this a much better and smoother read!

Hope everyone in the US had a good Thanksgiving – I am still in a tryptophan induced stupor, LOL!

On another note, since this site has now outlawed in-story author responses, I can only answer a review if you leave an e-mail or are signed into an ffnet account. Also, if you send me a private message through the new system and are not signed into your account, I will not be able to respond. My email is listed in my profile, if anyone wants fruitcake recipes. ;-)


	47. Getting Nowhere Fast

I am discovering that Christmas season is not a good time to get much writing done! Imagine that!

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to the very patient Verity Brown, lalaluu, and Bellegeste for all their help and input!

* * *

Severus stopped in the middle of the large, wood-paneled office, wand held at the ready by his side. A huge marble fireplace took up most of one wall, and the illusion of rain pelted against the enchanted window. Hannigan closed the folder on the desk in front of him with a sharp snap. 

"It's all right, Wilson," he said, waving away the little wizard, who had followed Severus into the room. "But keep the door open, just in case." He turned his eyes back on Snape with mock courtesy. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

The smugly calm look on his face confirmed all Snape's worst suspicions. _He_ _had her_. It was, in a way, good news. Hannigan, he thought, was much less likely to cause Hannah actual harm than Pettigrew, the other possible culprit in her abduction. She was the man's daughter, after all.

At the same time, the idea that Hannigan thought he had the right to kidnap Hannah from right under Snape's nose to prevent her from marrying him was insufferable. Hate boiled up from where it had been simmering away steadily ever since he had left Hogwarts. Wasn't it enough for Hannigan to have thrown him into a cell half-dead, to have publicly humiliated him, to have ruined his reputation by spreading lies in the papers, all with impunity? Did he have to make Hannah a pawn in his game, as well? _She is mine_, he thought savagely. _By her own choice, she is mine. And I want her back. Now._ His fingers curled tightly around his wand. "What have you done with her?" he spat. "Tell me or I'll…"

"Or you'll what?" Hannigan interrupted, looking at the tense figure of the Potions master with a smirk. "There are more than two dozen Aurors outside these doors at the moment. You just try something, Snape, and you'll find yourself in a cell before you can say 'Azkaban'. – But what was it you were trying to tell me? That someone is missing?"

Severus' knuckles turned white around his wand. McGonagall, eyebrows raised in alarm, quickly took a step forward. "We can't find Hannah at the moment," she said crisply. "We were wondering if you had any idea as to her whereabouts?"

Hannigan calmly rose from his chair and walked around the desk. "So she has finally come to her senses and taken herself off, has she? About time, I would say." He turned a wide, shark-like smile towards Severus. "You didn't think she would stay, did you? Why on earth would she? She may have deluded herself for a while into thinking you have hidden depths, but whatever else she is, she's a clever girl. I knew she would come to realize her mistake before it was too late."

To his surprise, Severus discovered that Hannigan's darts had fallen short of the target. Not too long ago, he would have been only too ready to believe that Hannah had taken a good look at him and taken off running. But not now. Not any more. There was a flicker of triumph in his eyes – he _knew_ the man's taunts had no basis in reality. The red fog clouding his vision condensed into a small, hard pebble of loathing, sitting cold in the pit of his stomach. Let the man talk. This wasn't about Hannigan. This was about getting Hannah back. He exhaled slowly, willing his nerves to steady.

"Don't take me for a fool." He enunciated each word softly and clearly as he took a menacing step forward. McGonagall put a warning hand on his arm. He shook it off in irritation. "She is an adult, and so am I. You have absolutely no right to interfere."

"Interfere with what?" Hannigan was the very picture of wide-eyed innocence.

"So you expect me to believe this has nothing to do with our upcoming wedding?" he asked, his voice tinted with disbelief.

"Wedding? She actually agreed to marry you? Isn't that rich. Small wonder she ran," Hannigan said with a snicker. "That's the stuff of nightmares, that is."

"_Where is she? _You can't…_"_

"I will assign an Auror or two to look into the matter," Hannigan interrupted him dismissively. "It's more than I would do if it weren't my daughter we were talking about." His voice took on a sickly sweet, pitying quality. "But try not to fret yourself too much, Snape. I am sure she is just fine. As I said, I assume she has just taken herself off to think things over somewhere without having to look at your ugly nose."

For a second, there was the overwhelming urge to attempt a quick peek into Hannigan's head via Legilimency, but he squashed that urge down ruthlessly. Unauthorized Legilimency was a guaranteed ticket to Azkaban. Nothing would please Hannigan more. And help Hannah less. He let out a slow breath. "You have my word that if you let her go, we will disappear and you will never have to deal with either one of us again. But let her go."

"I repeat, I have no idea what you are talking about," Hannigan said, a note of steel in his voice. "And I suggest you leave now before I have you arrested for trespassing. You have quite overstayed your welcome."

McGonagall put a hand on his arm again. "This is useless, Severus. Let's go, please."

Snape stood indecisively for a moment. But McGonagall was right – his chances of getting any further information out of Hannigan were minimal. "This isn't over," he said in a soft, deadly voice. "Let her go, or I _will_ find her. And if I find you have hurt so much as a hair on her head…." He let his voice trail off.

"You aren't threatening me, are you?" Hannigan said, with a smile and cold eyes. "That isn't a smart thing to do, Snape. You should know that by now." He raised his voice as he turned towards the door. "Wilson! Our guests are leaving."

"We can see ourselves out," Snape said sharply. He turned abruptly and, followed by McGonagall, strode out the door, past the disgruntled secretary, and into the cubicle-filled room outside. "Assign an Auror or two, will he?" he muttered, lips pinched in a tight line. "Well, maybe we can help him with that."

.-.-.-.-.

After they had left, Hannigan returned to the papers on his desk. Distractedly, he opened the folder and read the top parchment, signed his name with an angry stab of the quill, and put it to the side. A few more signatures and he called Wilson. "Take these and see that they get to whomever they concern," he said shortly as he handed him the stack. "And shut the door on your way out. I need some time alone."

Once the door was closed, he turned his back to the antechamber and furtively pulled a mirror out of the pocket of his suit jacket. He breathed on it and used his sleeve to polish a few fingerprints off the glass. It was an inconspicuous thing – round; baby-blue plastic; the kind of mirror a little girl might have.

"Peter Pettigrew," he whispered hoarsely.

It took a moment, and then the rodent-like face appeared in the mirror. "What do you want? We agreed to let Snape stew for a while," a whiny voice issued from the image. "Can't you be patient?"

"Our boy just paid me a visit," Hannigan said sharply. "He's cleverer than we thought; he didn't wait for our invitation. Somehow, he figured out that I have something to do with his dearest's disappearance. We'll have to hurry up. I don't trust Snape; he has proven unexpectedly slippery in the past. I don't want him to slip away yet again."

"Did you get what I asked for?"

Hannigan nodded. "Stationed to answer my summons at a moment's notice."

The face in the mirror snickered. "So we'll both get what we have been waiting for. We make a good team, don't you think?"

Hannigan's face grew hard. "We are not and will never be a team."

"Whatever you say, Frank." The face in the mirror sniffed, nose wrinkling. "Go, then, and wait. Just a little while longer. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Hannigan said menacingly. "Until later, then."

.-.-.-.

"Well, that was an extraordinarily effective excursion, wasn't it?" Minerva said dryly, hurrying after Snape, who was striding down the aisle reading the nameplates attached to the outside cubicle walls.

"Marston, O'Hara, Slop, Weinberg…ah, Tonks." He walked into the cubicle, where a witch with spiky chartreuse hair, feet up on her desk, sat staring morosely at a piece of parchment in her hand. Severus looked at the young Auror in distaste. Tonks, with her puppy-dog enthusiasm and bumbling ways, was not one of his favorites by a long shot, but she was the last remaining Order member in the Auror Department, and thus their best hope for information. Beggars can't be choosers.

He wrinkled his nose as his eyes darted around the impossibly cluttered cubicle. Every surface was covered with piles of parchments, the walls covered with flyers and a variety of posters ranging from 'Most Wanted' to the 'Weird Sisters'. While he was looking, an inter-office memo zoomed by on smooth paper-airplane wings and landed with a dejected air in what he assumed was the 'in' box, joining a large pile of other unread mail.

"Nymphadora." He curtly inclined his head.

At the sound of his voice, she turned in surprise. "Hey! – And it's _Tonks_." She shot him a withering glance before breaking into a smile. "I hear you're getting married. Congratulations."

Snape looked at her through narrowed eyes. "How did you find out?"

Tonks shrugged. "Clerk from the Registry told Undersecretary Blalocks's clerk who told Auror Elyot when he went to pick up some papers. Word got around from there." She grinned up at him. "You and Hannigan's daughter – that's brilliant! So Saturday's the big day, is it?"

McGonagall cleared her throat in warning as Severus' features tightened. He looked away sharply.

Tonks turned to McGonagall in confusion. "Something the matter?"

"Severus' fiancée seems to have disappeared," McGonagall explained. "And we think chances are good Frank has something to do with her disappearance."

Tonks' eyes grew large. "Well, yes, I suppose he wouldn't be too pleased, would he now? I mean, he hates Snape's, erm, your guts…ehem." She cleared her throat in embarrassment as she looked up at Snape. She lowered her voice. "Anyway, I wouldn't put it past him."

"Neither would we," Snape said grimly, turning back to face her. "Did you happen to notice when he got in today?"

She shrugged. "No, he usually Floos straight to his office. He did have a meeting with senior staff a couple of hours ago. I saw him hang around in front of his office with a few of them afterwards."

"Did you notice anything different?"

"Can't say. He did seem to be in a pretty good mood. Which is somewhat unusual for him these days, now that you mention it." She grinned. "I have the impression that ever since his daughter showed up in court on your behalf, he is having a much harder time managing Minister Graham to his satisfaction. That was a fine, brave thing she did."

"Yes," Snape said in a clipped voice. "It was." His gaze strayed to the wall beside him. A flyer blinked 'Seminar – Blind Pursuit Spell' across the top in inch-high, neon-green letters, and beneath it, a miniature Death Eater popped up in different places across the paper, with an equally small Auror following him around in hot pursuit. The message 'Improve your tracking skills!' scrolled along the bottom.

"I'm really sorry, Snape," Tonks said awkwardly. "It's a tough break, this close to the wedding. I wish there was anything I could do, but…"

He cut her off abruptly, pointing to the flyer. "What's this?"

"That?" Tonks blinked. "That's old. It was a seminar we had, oh, something like three months ago, maybe? I should have taken it down ages ago. Why?"

"So what was it?" Snape snapped impatiently. "Could you kindly tell me?"

"All right then," she snapped back. "It's some fairly recent stuff the Spell Research Department has come up with. The spell is," she cast a furtive glance at Snape's left arm, "based on the Dark Mark. You see, to Apparate, you have to be able to visualize the destination, right? Well, Riddle managed to figure out a way to allow his minions to Apparate to his side without knowing where they were going. Spell Research thought it would be a useful skill to have, obviously – to follow suspects, or to track escaped prisoners, that sort of thing."

"And? Does it work?"

She shrugged. "Well, they haven't been successful in fixing the tracking spell on any one person so far. But they managed to figure out that if they can bespell an object and plant it on the person in question, then an Auror can follow even after Disapparation. The spell isn't incredibly precise, but it'll land you within a couple hundred yards of the target object. And they managed to configure the spell so you don't accidentally rematerialize inside a solid wall or something like that. It's better than nothing. "

"And you know how to do this?"

"Yeeesss…," Tonks said warily. "Why?"

Snape pointed his wand at all four cubicle walls, muttering '_Muffliato_' as he flicked it at each one in turn before turning back to Tonks. "To track Hannigan," he said bluntly. "If I can follow him, I can find Hannah."

"Now wait a minute," Tonks protested. "If he finds out, he'll have my head on a platter. And if I cast the spell, I'll have to be the one to follow him."

"He _won't _find out. You're a Metamorphmagus, in case you forgot," Snape said scathingly. "Surely you can come up with some disguise he hasn't seen?"

"It's not that!" Tonks said in an aggrieved voice. "They never use me for stealth and tracking assignments. Heavens, Snape, you've been around me often enough! I'm bound to trip up somewhere and mess the whole thing up."

"Then Side-Along Apparate me to the spot. I'll take it from there," Snape cut in impatiently. "It is not that difficult, really. That is _if_ you are willing to help, of course."

"Oh fine, then. Go on. Got anything in mind to place the charm on?" She leaned back in her chair. "It's got to be small enough to slip in his pocket without him noticing."

"You don't say?" he said, looking down at her with disdain. "That clever bit of deduction would never have occurred to me."

McGonagall looked at him with disapproval. "She_ is_ sticking her neck out for you, in case you haven't noticed."

With an effort, he unclenched his hands. "If we could just get on with it?" he said tightly.

Avoiding his eyes, Tonks rummaged around in a drawer. "How about this?" She held up a paperclip. Snape nodded his approval; Tonks muttered an incantation, the paperclip briefly glowed pink, and then she leaned back. "Now, how do we get that into Hannigan's pocket?"

She had barely finished the sentence when Snape had already grabbed the paperclip and was on his way out of the cubicle. McGonagall followed him hurriedly.

"I will need you to distract Hannigan for just a moment," he muttered at her out of the corner of his mouth as, robes billowing behind him, he strode back down the aisle towards Hannigan's office. "It'll only take a second or two to direct it into one of his pockets. But I need him to look at you instead of me for just that long. Do you think you can manage?"

"I'll think of something," Minerva said with grim determination. "Let me handle this." She pulled ahead of him right as they reached their destination. Snape in tow, she pushed through the outer doors, muttered 'just forgot something, dear man, t'will only be a minute' with a sweet and sour smile while otherwise ignoring the outraged utterances of Wilson-the-secretary, and strode straight into Hannigan's office.

Too late.

A last flicker of flame died down in the fireplace as a few flakes of ash lazily floated down onto the hearth rug.

Hannigan was gone.

_.-.-.-._

After her father had left, Hannah had done all she could to find a way to escape. She had tried the door and found it locked. Peering out through the tiny view panel set in the top yielded no important information – there was just a dark, non-descript corridor, another door or two, a glimpse of a staircase. She had pushed the bedside table over to the window and climbed up to looked out. All she could see was a mostly deserted backstreet alley; rubbish bins sat out along the pavement, waiting for collection. As her father had said, the window did not budge an inch. She took off her shoe and hit the windowpane as hard as she could – she might as well have been hitting a solid rock wall for all the good it did. And even if she had managed to get the window open somehow, there would have been a steep drop down.

Next, she had examined the bathroom – no window, nothing to use as a tool, just a small shower with a grimy plastic shower curtain, a cracked sink, and a toilet. No hope there.

Finally satisfied that her options were exhausted, she curled up miserably on the bed. She now regretted not having taken the sandwich – her stomach was starting to rumble, and the cup of water didn't do much to calm it down.

She lay on her side, her thoughts starting to rumble as well. How to get out of here? What to do? Severus would come looking for her once he figured out she was gone. The thought did nothing to ease her fears. Even right now, he might be walking straight into the trap they had set for him. 'They' – her father and who? She had to get out, somehow. But how? There had to be a way…and she had to find it before he had a chance to put her in a bodybind again.

Minutes and hours seemed to crawl by as her thoughts ran around in circles. She looked up with clenched jaws when Frank opened the door an indeterminate amount of time later.

"Did you have a nice day?" he asked facetiously, twirling his wand nonchalantly as he stopped through the doorway.

"Oh, lovely, thank you for asking," she said, a sarcastic edge to her voice as she sat up. "And yours went well, I trust?"

"Quite. You wouldn't believe who came to see me," he said, lips curling down. "Severus Snape. Imagine that."

Hannah looked up sharply. "And?"

Frank shrugged. "And _nothing_. A bit too early out of the starting gate, he was. I told him I had no idea what he was talking about. A sore disappointment to him, I believe – not at all what he wanted to hear."

Her stomach clenching, she stood up abruptly. _Severus_. A pang of longing, so sharp it hurt. Merlin, she wanted him right now. He would know what to do. He was much more experienced at this sort of thing than she was... "What did he say?" she asked, cursing the tremor in her voice.

"Nothing much. 'Let her go, and I'll be a good boy from now on.' That sort of thing," Frank said, a nasty edge to his smile. "But let's talk about something more pleasant, shall we? Are you hungry yet? I could fix you a sandwich if you want."

Hannah looked at him resentfully.

"Well, yes or no?" he asked irritably. "Which will it be?"

She swallowed with difficulty. No use in biting off her nose to spite her face – starving herself would not improve her situation. "I am hungry," she admitted, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Frank looked pleased. "Well, I'll be right back, then!"

She ran to the door as soon as he had left. No, of course he hadn't been careless enough to leave it open. When she heard his footsteps coming back down the corridor, she hurried back to her place on the bed. He entered the room balancing a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. With his chin, he pointed to the corner of the room. "Go sit down over there – or do I have to get my wand out?"

Resentfully, Hannah crouched down in the corner he had indicated. Cautiously keeping an eye on her, he moved up to the bedside table and put down the food before backing up again. "There. Eat," he said.

Hannah got off the floor and sat down on the bed, but she didn't pick up her sandwich immediately. "So, did you find out any more about your 'plans'?"

Hannigan shrugged. "I am still waiting for specifics." The nasty grin had reappeared on his face.

"So who is your partner?" Hannah asked with a carefully preserved air of being unconcerned.

For a moment, Hannigan hesitated. "Well…" He shrugged, then conceded with a grin. "I suppose it won't matter if I tell you. You'll have on a Silencing charm before we go, anyway. And you get to permanently say goodbye to your memories once we are finished, so no harm done, right? It's Pettigrew."

Hannah sat still for a moment, too stunned to speak. Then, she exploded. "PETTIGREW? _Are you out of your bloody mind_? _How can even talk about justice if you are willing to work with a remorseless killer like Pettigrew simply to catch Severus? I can't believe you_!"

Hannigan's face had gone sour. "You don't understand."

"DON'T UNDERSTAND? _What the hell is there not to understand_?" Hannah had got up, and stood slightly leaning forward, with hands balled by her side, a hectic blush on her cheeks. "_How can you_?"

"_Sit down."_ Hannigan took a menacing step forward. "And just for your information, I know full well Pettigrew is as bad or worse than Snape. But I'll take the sparrow in the hand at the moment." As Hannah sat down resentfully, he paced the far end of the room. "I haven't been able to catch either Snape or Pettigrew. After tonight, I'll have at least one of them disposed of." He grinned slyly. "And if I play my cards right, I may have both."

"I suppose it serves Pettigrew right if he is stupid enough to trust you," she said bitterly. "You two deserve each other."

"Oh, he doesn't trust me," Hannigan said complacently. "He is making as sure as possible that he is in control of the situation. I don't know where he is, I don't know his exact plan, I can't even try to have an owl followed – he has limited all communications. But I think I can outsmart him. And if not – well, I'll at least have Snape. One nasty, murderous, Dark, good-for-nothing wizard down. I'll worry about the other one later."

Hannah looked at him with a bitter smile. "Severus is none of those things."

"He is the worst kind of wizard there is," Hannigan said with conviction.

"That's codswallop. And furthermore, you know that it is," she said dismissively. "Your whole plan hinges on the gamble that he will value his life less than mine, that he will do something unselfish and noble, and knowingly place himself in danger to save me. If you ask me, in being so damn certain your plan will succeed you are paying him a huge compliment."

Hannigan opened his mouth as if to answer, then closed it again. "Eat your sandwich, we don't have all day," he said roughly. "We should be ready to leave any minute now."

Thoughts whirling wildly, she resentfully picked up the sandwich. The bread was stale, and there was too much mayonnaise. She chewed without enthusiasm. Once they left here, she would be out of luck. She had to think of something. And quick.

* * *

A/N: (minor HBP spoiler following, so read at your own risk) 

Regarding unauthorized Legilimency – we now know that Snape is quite a capable Legilimens as well as a superb Occlumens (even though the subjects still seem to know that someone is inside their heads when he does his thing), but since in earlier chapters I used what we knew for certain from OotP (that Snape could do wanded Legilimency using a voiced spell and eye contact, and that the subject is quite aware that that is what is happening), I have to stick with those rules. So a 'sneak peak' seemed out of the question. Also, I had Shacklebolt listed as a casualty of war in an earlier chapter (which, since that was many moons ago, I don't expect anyone to remember, LOL), but I just thought I would bring that up to explain why we are stuck with Tonks!


	48. Waiting Games

I'm back! Hope everyone had a nice Christmas and a happy New Year. We went to California for two weeks over the holidays, with virtually _no_ internet access (oh, the very horror of the thing!) Then we came home to two flooded and moldy bathrooms, and a broken furnace. We had to rip out the flooring – I got done laying tile today, and just have the grout left to do. Never a dull moment.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, and to Bellegeste, Verity Brown, and lalaluu for previewing and fixing my mistakes! Now, without further ado, the next chapter:

* * *

Minerva breathed a huge sigh of relief when she arrived safely back at Hogwarts, a dour Snape trailing behind her. 

He had practically been fuming from the ears when he had found Hannigan's office empty. The language he had used the moment he realized Frank had disappeared would have been enough to make a hag blush. Minerva had had her work cut out for her trying to extract Severus from Hannigan's office without further incident while simultaneously trying to sweet-talk Wilson-the-secretary out of calling a watch-wizard.

Then she had had an even harder job in persuading a seething Snape that it would accomplish nothing to remain at the Ministry; that it would, in his current state of mind, be actually counterproductive to start working his way down the rows of cubicles attempting to extract information. Tonks was in a much better position to do that, she argued; she knew most of these people and was friendly with many of them. He had not seen reason until Tonks had promised to stay at the Auror's Office as long as necessary, to keep her eyes and ears open, and to send her Patronus as soon as she found out anything that could be of the slightest interest. Only then had she been able to persuade him to leave.

"I think we could both do with a cup of tea," Minerva said briskly as she opened the door to her office. She didn't like the look on his face – there was a bitter, defeated quality, as if all the fight had drained out of him for the moment.

She had just set the pot steeping when Flitwick and Lupin came through the door.

Severus turned sharply from where he had been staring out the window. "Anything new?"

"We were just going to ask you the same thing," Flitwick said with an apologetic shrug. "I'm afraid our search turned up absolutely nothing new at all. How did it go at the Ministry?"

Minerva answered as Severus turned back to the window. "Not well. Hannigan's as cold a fish as I've ever seen. I'm quite certain he's involved somehow. The news that his daughter had disappeared didn't come as the least bit of a surprise to him, I swear, but he denied all knowledge of the affair. There wasn't much we could do."

"Her own father?" Flitwick asked, a haggard look on his face. "Knowing him, I shouldn't be surprised, but…" His voice trailed off. "You don't want to think that of anyone."

"If you'd been there, there wouldn't be a doubt in your mind," McGonagall said primly.

Severus had straightened up and turned around. "I should return to my office," he said tonelessly. "I appreciate your concern, but there doesn't seem to be anything else that can be done. I have taken up enough of your time with my affairs."

There was a pause, and then Flitwick looked up at him with exasperation. "Don't be a blooming idiot, Severus," he said succinctly. "This isn't just your affair. We care about Hannah, too. And about you. And we aren't about to let you go off to stew alone in your office, especially when we haven't the faintest idea what else Hannigan might be up to. So you might just as well get used to the idea that for the moment, you are stuck with us."

Severus cast a quick glance at McGonagall and Lupin. "Afraid so," Remus said affably.

"I see no reason to keep you from your business," Snape said stiff-lipped. "There is nothing anyone can do, and I assure you I don't require hand-holding."

Flitwick had walked over to him and placed a small hand on his arm. "I know you don't," he said so quietly that the other two couldn't hear. "And heaven knows we've done a shabby enough job letting you know how much we care about you in the past, so why should you want us now? I know I've missed too many opportunities to tell you, but let me make up for that now – you have a friend if you want one. I'm sure Minerva and Remus would say the same thing. And the fact is that even though you don't need my company, I would be glad of yours. Because, you see," he smiled a small, tense smile at him, "I am worried sick about her, too. She is like a daughter to me, and she loves you dearly. So for my sake, stay? And if there is anything that can be done, well, four heads are better than one."

Snape looked down at him, his face immobile, black eyes glittering like dark ice. Friends? Where had these 'friends' been all the years he had worked at Hogwarts, alone in his dungeon? Where had they been when he had spied for the Order, but hadn't even felt part enough of that group to stay for meals? Friends? He had never had friends. But through the bitter thoughts other images kept ruthlessly muscling in. Flitwick thrusting his own wand into his hands. The look of relief on Remus' face when he had walked out of the Wizengamut a free man. Minerva sticking to him like a burr at the Ministry.

And the idea of being alone in his office, dead-end thoughts endlessly bouncing around like small rubber balls in his brain, going nowhere, suddenly seemed cold and dismal.

He gave a short nod. "I'll stay," he said softly, hoarsely.

Flitwick squeezed his arm lightly, tears in his eyes. "Good," he said.

.-.-.

Hannah sat on the edge of her bed, eating her sandwich as slowly as possible. _I am out of my depth here_, she thought miserably._ I can't think on my feet like Severus can. _Her stomach clenched tightly for a moment.What would _he_ do?

_Well_, she thought, suppressing a bitter smirk, _to put it precisely, what would he do if he were an unarmed Squib who somehow had to take on a wizard weighing several stone more than he did?_ The odds seemed just _slightly_ stacked in her father's favor… _Think_, she told herself.

But what _could_ she possibly do? He was staying well back from her, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. If she tried to attack, he would have his wand out before she ever reached him, and that would be that. For any chance at success, she would need to get him within arm's reach. Even then, the likelihood of succeeding was slim. But once she was under the _Silencio_ and back in a body bind, there would be no more chances whatsoever.

"So where are we going?" she asked as she picked up the glass and drank the last of the milk.

"I don't know exactly," Frank said irritably. "I told you he doesn't trust me. But someplace not too far from Hogwarts, I am told."

"Where are we now? Anywhere near there?"

Frank's face closed down. "I told you that our whereabouts are none of your business, didn't I? – Could you hurry up?" he asked in an annoyed voice. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat a piece of bread more slowly."

"I'm sorry. It's just that I haven't eaten in a long time. I'll make myself sick if I eat too fast, I'm afraid." She was just stalling, really, waiting for a stroke of inspiration or luck. _Keep him talking_, she thought_. Figure out a way to get him closer._

She looked down at the last bit of sandwich in her hand with a flit of a smile. "Do you know what I just remembered? Mum always cut sandwiches into quarters, not halves. Funny, isn't it, the little things that come back to you?"

Frank had turned, staring up at the patch of grey sky that showed through the window. "Yes," he said, almost inaudibly. "It is."

"She was about my age when she died, wasn't she?" She looked down at her hands. "It seems so strange to think that."

"She died too young," he said, still staring out the window. "Much too young."

"Yes, she did," she whispered. For a moment, it was silent.

Then, "Do you ever regret that you destroyed all her things?" Hannah asked hesitantly. "I have wished so many times that I at least still had a picture of her. – I know it was a terrible time for you," she said quickly as he stiffened. "I am not blaming you."

Frank finally turned his head. "I kept one," he said hoarsely. "Just one."

"You did?" She could feel her heartbeat speeding up. "You have a picture of her?"

One jerking little nod. "I do. She gave it to me for my birthday, the year before she died. I couldn't bring myself to destroy it."

Her chest feeling tight, Hannah looked up at him with burning eyes. "Do you have it with you?" She was desperate to get the words out before he could interrupt her. "I know you plan on Obliviating me, but, Father, if I could see her just one more time…" There was such a sharp note of longing in her voice that Frank stared at her, emotions warring on his face.

"Close your eyes," he finally said, sounding unwilling and strangely compelled at the same time.

After a questioning look, she obeyed. She could feel her body grow stiff from the neck down again as another spell bound her immobile._ He was too careful. But…her mother._ For a moment, she forgot everything else._ He had a picture. There was one picture left._

She heard him moving towards her. "Open your eyes," he whispered.

When she did, he was crouching in front of her. He had pulled a chain with a locket out of the collar of his shirt, and was holding the open locket out to her. "Look," he said, his face lit with a strange, fanatical fire. "Look at her. Can you see? Can you see her?"

Inhaling softly, tears springing to her eyes, she stared at the miniature color photograph inside the locket. There was a warm, sweet smile on Lydia Hannigan's face as she looked into her daughter's eyes. "Mum…" Hannah whispered. As their eyes met, she felt thirteen years old again.Her own memory had grown hazy over the years, snippets and misty outlines, and she gazed intently at the image, trying to imprint it into the circuits of her mind. _I've missed you so much…_

"Look at her." Frank's voice was eager. "Her hair is the same color as yours, see? And even the same length. Your chin is a little wider. But you have the same nose and eyes. Except that her eyes were a different color. She had hazel eyes, beautiful hazel eyes. Small green specks around the pupils, and a dark green ring around the iris. And see," he pointed again at the locket. "Her smile. You have her smile." He held the locket out for a moment longer, and then closed it with a snap. "But I told you that already, didn't I? I know I did." He stood up and backed away again, towards the door. A moment later, when she could feel the stiffness lift off her body, he was back to pacing along the narrow side of the room. "That's one reason I won't kill you, once Snape is dead," he said, with the same eager, hard voice. "They cheated me out of growing old with her. I'll keep track of you, when you are back in the Muggle world, and I'll be able to come and look at you. You won't know I am there, but I will be watching you, watching you change over the years. I'll be able to see you grow older, to know what she would have looked like at forty, at fifty, at sixty. For the rest of your life, you'll remind me of her. Maybe once you've forgotten who I am, we could even be friends."

Cold shivers running down her spine, Hannah listened to him talk. For a moment, thinking about her mother, she had forgotten that she was dealing with a madman. _Once Snape is dead…_ Her mind snapped back into gear.

"Thank you for letting me see her," she said, in a carefully neutral tone.

Frank simply nodded. He pulled out his wand, and the plate and cup vanished. "We should get ready. It'll be time, soon now…"

He walked a few steps, turned, and looked sharply at his daughter. There must have been something in her expression that made his own face harden. "I know you must think I'm crazy." He tucked his wand away somewhere inside his suit jacket, and his right hand closed around the locket as he resumed pacing the narrow end of the room. "But I am not going to let some filthy, black-souled Death Eater have you. I would rather see you dead than in the arms of one of those bastards. You didn't see her body when we found her," he said, hard anguish in his voice as he walked back and forth. "Those animals only had her alone for maybe five minutes. Just five minutes."

"Flitwick told me about some of her injuries," Hannah said softly, forcing herself to stay calm, to keep him talking. "She must have put up a fierce fight."

"They showed her no mercy. You should have seen…" He stopped mid-sentence and inhaled with a short, strangled sob. "And it was all so unnecessary; those people she was trying to rescue were only Muggles, not even wizards…."

Right then, Hannah leaned forward with a sharp exhalation, hands pressed against her abdomen.

"What is it?" Frank stopped pacing.

"Nothing. Just a bit of a stomach ache." She smiled a strained smile at him. "I'll be fine."

He nodded distractedly. "Yes, yes…but that was the kind of person that she was, risking her life for mere Muggles, when a witch of her caliber was worth a hundred of them or more…"

There was a louder moan as she swayed forward. Seconds later, she had slipped onto the floor, leaning against the side of the bed, doubled over.

"_What's wrong?" _Frank had come a few steps closer. "Is it getting worse?"

Her face was contorted into a grimace of pain. "Is this…part of your plan?" The words came out in gasps. "Poison?" Her eyes were burning as she clutched her abdomen, rocking herself, panting. "I can't believe you would…_Aah_!" A strangled cry, and she curled up on the floor.

"I didn't, I swear!" Frank had knelt down a short distance away, looking worried and baffled. "The mayonnaise must have been bad or something…"

"Help me!" She was begging, crying. Then, a look of panic. "Bathroom. Get me to the bathroom."

Alarm on his face, Frank took the last few steps towards her, hooked his arm around her, and helped her up.

Hannah stood shakily, one hand against her stomach, the other holding on to his arm to steady herself. _He's your father,_ she thought for a panicky second. _He's the man who wants to kill Severus, _another part reminded her, sharply and sternly. The dull roar of blood in her ears died down, and for a moment, everything grew glass-clear and quiet in her mind.

In a split second, her posture changed. Her free hand came up with force. The heel of her palm drove up into his nose, hard. The crunch of bone. A shout, and Hannigan's hands shot up to his face in reflex reaction as blood spurted from his broken nose. At almost the same time, a shifting of weight. Her knee came up sharply. With a muffled cry, Hannigan dropped to the ground, doubling up, whimpering and groaning. Frantically, Hannah knelt and slipped her hand inside his suit jacket, feeling around, trying to find his wand. Before she could find it, a blood-covered hand clutched her arm and grasped her, tightly. Hard, watering eyes glared at her venomously. The air crackled with raw magic. With a stifled exclamation, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp. And ran.

Out the open door, down a staircase. There _had_ to be a way out. She ran to the front door, turned the handle, pushed hard. No luck. The window in the room next to it – it didn't budge. She picked up a chair and threw it against the glass. It bounced off harmlessly. Her eyes dashed around. Nothing left to try here. The backdoor, then.

She sprinted back the way she had come, tried the door. Sealed. What she wouldn't give for a wand and some magic right about now. Desperation rising like bile in the back of her throat, she rattled the door handle, again. Nothing. Upstairs, then. She turned around, and froze. Frank was limping towards her, slightly bent over, blood covering his shirtfront and jacket, his eyes narrow specks of hatred, wand in hand.

"No!" She managed to dodged his curse once. The spell knocked plaster off the wall next to her in a small white cloud. But she was trapped, between Frank and a closed door, with no place to even hide. It was over in a second. A word, a wand tip pointed at her, and the spell once again froze her body into rigid immobility. _Finished,_ she thought dully. As she tipped forward stiffly, another spell caught her and flipped her over. With a thud, she landed hard on her back.

"You!" He had a handkerchief pressed against his nose, his words coming out muffled and furious. "I _should_ kill you after that performance." Slowly, deliberately, he backhanded her across the mouth. A warm, metallic taste filled her mouth as blood ran from a split lip. "If you were anyone other than my daughter, I _would_ kill you."

She watched as he lifted his wand to his nose. The flow of blood ceased, and the bone moved back into place. He ran the wand tip over his shirt and jacket, cleaning up the worst of the bloodstains. Yet the bruises where the blood had seeped under the skin remained, darkening to blue-black patches beneath his eyes.

Eyes glittering dangerously and lips pressed tightly together, he glared at Hannah. "You'll pay for this," he said harshly. "I swear, you'll pay for this."

He turned his back abruptly and pulled out the mirror. "Peter Pettigrew!" From her position on the floor, she could just barely see Wormtail's face appear on the shimmering surface.

The small wizard looked at Frank with raised eyebrows. "Good grief, what happened to you?" His face broke into a grin. "Don't tell me that Squib daughter of yours put one over on you?"

"I am tired of waiting. I want answers now. Or I'll take my business elsewhere."

"Fine, fine," Pettigrew said in a sulk. "I'll owl you the Portkey."

Hannigan nodded grimly. "I warn you, if it isn't here in one hour, the deal is off."

"Oh, it'll be there." With that, Pettigrew's smirking face faded away.

.-.-.-.

He didn't break the deal. Within forty-five minutes, there was the beating of wings against the front door, and Frank disappeared, still limping. Just a minute or so later, he came back into the room where Hannah was lying motionlessly.

"Finally," he said with grim pleasure. He opened the package carefully to reveal a half-rusted soup tin. Reaching over, he firmly grasped Hannah's hand. "Well, dear daughter of mine, let's go!"

Everything moved in a whirlwind as the Portkey picked them up and whisked them away. When the navel-pulling sensation ceased, they were outside a decrepit farm house. The door opened, and there stood Pettigrew, wand at the ready.

"Frank. You made it." He looked down at Hannah, who was lying on the ground. "Well, hello, Miss Hannigan. We meet again. Just can't get enough of me, can you?" He looked at her with a cold smile, pasted on over a foundation of bitter resentment. "It was very impolite of you to leave without saying goodbye the last time we met. But now we'll get to make up for everything you missed out on back then. Welcome back!"

When she didn't answer, he looked up at Hannigan. "Well, let's get her inside. We have a lot to talk about."

.-.-.-.

As the afternoon ticked on, Severus had fetched a pile of his marking in an attempt to find something useful to do, but the third years' thoughts on the uses of _Datura _sap seemed to hold even less interest than usual. After a twitchy half an hour, he threw down the quill in frustration and got up.

"Some more tea?" Minerva asked him from where she was sitting behind her massive desk. She and Remus were going over the ledgers they had been discussing when they had been interrupted by Severus just a few hours earlier. Filius sat perched on one of her straight-backed chairs, quietly sipping his tea and keeping on eye on the Potions master.

Shaking his head irritably, Severus walked over to the window with staccato steps and stared out over the lake.

"Come sit down." Filius said, patting the seat of the empty chair next to him. "Try to relax a little."

"I can't." The words came out strangled as he resumed pacing, back and forth, from the door to the window.

Concern on her face, Minerva watched him as he moved restlessly. He had never been a man to wear his heart on his sleeve – one reason, she supposed, why she had written off the rumors among the staff about his relationship with Hannah as nothing more than the gossip-mongering of people with nothing better to do. She had noticed with dry amusement the looks that the Compositions mistress had thrown in his direction, but Severus had seemed so distant, almost cold, to her in public that the announcement of their engagement had caught her quite off guard. Afterwards, she had always supposed the attachment between the two to be mainly on Hannah's side. Even when he had stormed off to the Ministry, she had half suspected it to be damaged pride more than anything deeper. She knew quite well the temper he developed when someone messed with those he considered _his_. But somewhere over the last few hours, she had changed her mind about the depth of his involvement. There was something about the bleakness in his eyes that made her stomach clench.

To be reduced to waiting, to doing _nothing, _at the mercy of whoever had her – it was, she thought, his own personal kind of hell.

It was going on dinner time, and there hadn't been any kind of news. She shuddered. There might never_ be_ any news. Hannigan had the connections to make someone disappear without a trace if he chose to do so. The thought chilled her to the core.

For a moment it was quiet – and she could hear the soft hoot of an owl outside of her window. Snape stopped dead in his tracks as McGonagall walked across the room. Just a moment, and she had unlatched the window and pushed it open. The owl hopped onto the window sill, a small package tied to its right leg. It hooted again as McGonagall carefully untied the box.

"Severus?" She placed the package on the desk gingerly. "It's addressed to you. No return address." She put her hand across his as he reached to open it. "Wait. Let me." With some careful wand work, she removed the outside wrapper. A scrap of parchment was stuck to a small bundle of burlap. Minerva looked at Severus. "Do you mind if we read it?"

"No. Just get on with it." His voice was rough. With another wave of her wand, she detached the scrap of parchment, and it gently floated, face up, onto the desk. Remus and Filius leaned in to see, anxiety written on their faces.

_To Severus Snape:_

_Inside the package is a Portkey. I think you will recognize the item._

_You have two minutes after you read this message before the Portkey will become inactive. Come, and come alone, or you will never see Hannah alive again. _

_Peter Pettigrew_

"Pettigrew?" Flitwick's voice was squeaky in consternation. "I thought you were certain Frank has her?"

Minerva looked equally taken aback. "I thought so…oh Lord. Could it be that the note is a fake? That Hannigan just wants us to think it's Pettigrew who has her?"

"It does look like Peter's handwriting," Lupin said. "I would tend to think it's genuine."

Severus did not appear to be listening.

He had recognized the owl. When he had gone back to take care of his father's estate, he had simply assumed the bird had flown off after being neglected for weeks. But here it was – the same bird that had brought him the message from his mother, that night so long ago in his office. Apparently, it had found a new master.

He reached over and tugged at one end of the burlap package, and as the fabric unwound, something small and glittering, golden and green, fell out and rolled across the tabletop before coming to a rest against the hard surface, still rocking slightly. Hannah's engagement ring.

His teeth clenched tightly as he stared at it. The rational part of his mind told him that nothing could be gained by going, that he would be doing exactly what Pettigrew wanted. That he would be risking his life only to provide Wormtail with two victims instead of one. Yet, another, equally rational part told him that if he didn't go and they found her body tomorrow, dumped somewhere outside Hogwarts' main gate, killed because of his inaction, he would not be able to live with that fact. She was a captive now because of him, because she had put herself between him and the dementor's kiss. If she died…

Slowly, he backed several feet away from the table, away from his colleagues, who were still debating the identity of the author of the note.

Minerva turned around right then. "Severus, do you think that…" There was something about the expression on his face that made her push her chair back sharply and get to her feet in alarm. "You can't mean to go, Severus," she said shrilly, "It's just what he…" but it was too late.

"_Accio ring_," he whispered, and immediately the ring flew into his outstretched hand. A split second later, he was gone.

* * *

The _Datura _sap was borrowed from Bellegeste's wonderful "The Chosen". It's uses really are quite interesting... :-) 

In the last chapter, all the Aurors' names that Snape reads off while passing the cubicles belong to characters played by Alan Rickman, by the way!

Leave a review, pretty please?


	49. A Team Effort

As always, many thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to Bellegeste, lalaluu, and Verity Brown for betaing and lending a discerning eye - you guys are great!

* * *

The Portkey deposited Snape outside an abandoned farmhouse. He couldn't see anyone around, yet he knew he was being watched. Pettigrew, after all, knew exactly where he would rematerialize after the Portkey whisked him away from Hogwarts; he was sure that since his arrival there hadn't been a second when there hadn't been a wand trained on him. 

"I am here, Pettigrew," he called out harshly. "No need to play hide and seek – I know you are there."

"Well, it appears that maybe you don't know everything," an amused voice came from behind the half-opened door of the farmhouse. "Imagine that. – Hullo, Snape. Long time no see." Hannigan, nonchalantly twiddling his wand in his right hand, stepped through the doorway.

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously as his fingers tightened around the handle of his wand. "_You_."

Hannigan smiled his shark's smile. "Oh, this is actually a team effort. I have Pettigrew upstairs, a wand tip to Hannah's throat, and should you choose, for example, to cause any kind of fuss instead of handing over your wand like a good boy…well, let's just say it won't be pleasant for her. – So, if you would be so kind as to drop your wand?"

Standing motionlessly, Snape stared at his smiling nemesis, trying to decide what to do. He could be bluffing – Hannigan might just have her tied up somewhere, and Wormtail might not be involved at all. But Lupin had seemed quite certain about the note being in Pettigrew's handwriting. And, he thought bitterly, the man would know; he still had Snape's name traced along his arm in faint white lines, scars remaining from when Pettigrew had burned his message into the werewolf's skin. Another option would be to try and overpower Hannigan – not a venture certain of success by any means; Hannigan was a strong wizard. Yet even if he should succeed and thus acquire his own hostage, he seriously doubted that Pettigrew would care more about the beefy Auror's fate than about getting even.

"Having doubts?" Hannigan said with mock sympathy. "Don't be. Look up there." He pointed up with his left hand, while his wand and his eyes stayed firmly trained on Snape.

For a second, Pettigrew appeared in the dormer window that overlooked the entrance, just long enough to smile, wave, and disappear.

The last dregs of hope drained away. They had her; that much was clear from the engagement ring in his pocket. And he couldn't risk her life by Apparating away – they would have left before he ever came back, and he would find nothing when he returned. If he was lucky. What he would find as a worst-case scenario…he shuddered inwardly. No, there were no good options – but then he had known when he had summoned the Portkey that he would arrive in a situation where the odds of success were in someone else's favor. If he cooperated, at least there was the ghost of a chance that they would actually let her go.

His face cold and hard, he let his wand drop to the ground. "It appears I don't have much of a choice in the matter," he said harshly.

A second later, the wand had flown into Hannigan's hand. The beefy Auror lifted his wand. "_Petrificus totalus!"_ He walked over to where Snape had fallen, and crouched down next to him until only inches separated Snape's face from his. "Look at you," he crooned. "Right where I have wanted you for years – at my mercy, at the end of my wand. – _Silencio."_ He ran the tip of his wand down the ridge of Snape's nose. "I can't tell you how glad I am to know that this is the last time I'll ever have to look at your ugly visage." The wand tip continued down over his chin, across his throat, until it ended at his chest, right over his heart. "Just one word from me, Snape, and your heart would stop," he said softly. "But that would be too merciful a death…" He paused for a moment, gloating, and then got up with a sigh, knees creaking. "But I suppose I'd better get you inside. I promised Pettigrew his moment with you."

An almost careless flick of the wand, and Snape floated ahead of him until he was unceremoniously deposited on the wooden floor. Hannigan pointed his wand at the door, and it sealed itself with a gentle, squelching sound. "Pettigrew, you can come down now," he called through a door that led to a narrow hallway. "And bring my daughter."

They were in a room that had once been a combination kitchen/dining/living-room. A moth-eaten sofa, a few of its springs poking through the ratty upholstery, stood in front of the cold fireplace; a huge cast-iron stove, rusted in places, fitted neatly into a corner; and a stoneware sink, cracked and chipped, was still attached to the wall; other than that, the room was empty. Boarded-up windows blocked out the day; the only source of light was the flickering flame of a kerosene lamp sitting on the cold stove.

There was the noise of feet shuffling upstairs, and then a clunking as someone made his way down some stairs. Pettigrew came into view through the interior doorway, levitating Hannah behind him, trying to negotiate the narrow corridor. "This would be a whole lot easier if we could just let her walk," he said with a grunt. "Really, is this necessary?"

"It is," Hannigan said shortly, as at his command the sofa slid back and against the wall so that it faced the middle of the room. "Put her on there," he said gruffly. "I want her to have a front-row view of events."

Closing the door behind him, Pettigrew looked around the room with a wrinkled nose as he lowered Hannah onto the sofa. "I used to live here, you know. Hard to imagine now. I could have easily left the country – run up a mooring line in some port town somewhere and hitched a ride on a ship. But I was waiting for this moment, right here, right now. I swore I wouldn't rest until Snape got his due." His lips pulled back from teeth that seemed too big for his mouth. "Finally, it's time." He grinned down at Hannah. "So you're going to make her watch as we take care of Snape? I like the way you think."

Hannigan pointed a thick finger at the bruises under his eyes. "I told her she would pay for this. And she will." He crouched down next to the sofa, and, placing his wand tip under her chin, tilted it up to look at him. "I was going to spare you, to just keep you someplace safe until it was over," he said softly. "But now you will watch. By the time we are through, you will beg me to Obliviate you, to make you forget. You just wait."

Severus had watched as Pettigrew brought her in. She smiled as soon as she saw him, a wobbly, watery smile, her eyes soft with love and fear. Her mouth and cheek were swollen, and there was a crust of dry blood around a deep cut in her lip. Red anger threatened to cloud his vision again. _How dare they touch her._ But Hannigan's face was bruised as well – he had been fine when he had last seen him at the Ministry. Hannah apparently had not been content in the role of helpless victim. Pride mingled with self-loathing as their eyes met. He was the wizard. It had been his responsibility to keep her safe, and he had failed. And now they were both caught like mice in a trap, and there was nothing he could do for her. Nothing at all.

Briefly, he closed his eyes. Who was he to think he might have actually, for once, found something worth keeping? What hubris… No, obviously fate had decreed that he was not yet done paying for his sins.

Hannigan's voice pulled him out of his bitter thoughts. He had risen from his earlier position and was holding out Snape's wand to Pettigrew.

"…what do you want me to do with this? Do you want it?"

Pettigrew shook his head. "_You_ should use it; that way they can't track any…unfortunate spell to your own wand." He grinned widely. "With my wand it doesn't really matter. There is enough incriminating evidence contained within to quite condemn me already, I'm afraid."

Hannigan nodded, pocketed his own wand, and gave Snape's an experimental swish. Small sparks shot out from the tip. "I think it will do nicely," he said with a satisfied smile. He turned to his daughter. "I'll lift the spell for a moment, and you _will _sit up. I want you to be able to see well. And just a reminder - try anything funny again and he," a beam shot from the wand tip and hit Severus in the right shoulder, "will pay the price."

Hannah flinched as she watched Severus' eyes flicker in pain as the spell hit him. Not wanting to incite further retribution, she sat up carefully, her insides churning. As soon as she was upright, she could feel her legs freeze into position again.

Seeing him had unleashed a torrent of emotion. There was sheer terror at seeing him stiff and helpless on the floor. There were waves of guilt – it was her fault that he was here. There was anger at her father, and anger at Pettigrew, and even anger at Severus – why did he have to be so insufferably heroic? What had he thought to accomplish by coming? – and yet mixed in with all the anger and guilt, sadness, love, and terror had been a small current of gratefulness. If it had to end, at least she would be with him. That had lasted until she had seen the pain in his eyes, and the reality of her father's threat hit her in the face. _He is going to suffer cruelly, and they will savor every moment. And they will make me watch._ Her stomach lurched, and she felt like she was going to be ill.

Pettigrew walked over to Severus and lifted his wand.

"What do you think you are doing?" Hannigan asked, turning brusquely.

"Lifiting the Silencing spell. You don't expect me to…experiment while he is under a body-bind and a Silencio? Where is the fun in that?"

"You will do no such thing. We can't afford to have someone hear him scream. Who knows who might be out there – there _are_ other farms nearby. The last thing I need is unwelcome visitors."

Pettigrew's face took on a stubborn expression. "That wasn't part of the deal as I remember it. You have to let him react." He cast a quick glance at Hannah. "Do you really think she is going to be impressed by a few silent winces?" His voice turned wheedling. "Come on now, Frank. Just a few minutes."

"No." Hannigan's voice was uncompromising. "You will keep him silent. We can lift the body-bind, though."

"And give him a chance to fight back or run away?" Pettigrew said impatiently. "Maybe you don't know Snape as well as I do. But that _isn't_ a good idea."

"There is a solution to that." The Auror moved over to Snape. "Incapacitate him. I'll lift the body-bind, and we both cast the Cruciatus. On three."

Pettigrew grinned up at him. "Now you're talking."

The two wizards stepped back, making certain to give Hannah a clear field of view. "One…" They lifted their wands. "Two…" She could see the rigidity leave Severus' limbs, could see him try to roll off to the side, looking for cover of any kind. "Three!"

"_Crucio!"_ The word came from both throats, and Severus fell back, twitching, writhing, his face contorted, mouth open, screaming soundlessly. Hannah was not even aware of the tears running down her face as she looked on, hands clenched into fists so tightly that her nails were sending shooting pains up her arm. She remembered only too well the agonythat came from just _one_ person casting the curse. _Please, no…_ With her voice silenced, she could not even shout, curse, beg. Nothing. Nothing but watch as he twisted in pain, her father looking on with grim satisfaction while Pettigrew's mouth distorted into a demented, pleased smile.

The minutes seemed endless, but finally they lifted the curse, first her father, then Pettigrew, leaving Severus on the ground, chalky-white, twitching, and covered in sweat. For a fraction of a second, he looked at her, his eyes dark and bleak, and then turned his head away sharply. _He hates for me to have to see him this way_, she thought, a cold, hard pain in her stomach. But she couldn't _not_ watch. Watching hurt in a visceral, gut-twisting way, but it was torment that left her feeling as if at least they were in this together, somehow sharing the pain. _If I could trade places with you_, _I would,_ she thought, looking at his turned head with aching compassion.A corner of her mouth twitched in a bittersweet smile at the thought. _As if you would let me…_

"There," Pettigrew said in satisfaction. "That should keep him under control. He isn't going anywhere for a while." He crouched down a few feet away from Severus, and held his wand out in front of him, closing one eye, the way an artist would hold out a paintbrush in front of him to judge perspective and dimension. "What next? Something with a bit more…finesse. I have perfected the _Adflictatio_, you know," he said, looking up at Hannah. "Quite painful. Tickles the nerve endings beautifully. Where should we start? A joint? A kidney? A tooth?" He grinned up at Hannigan. "Too bad you don't want physical damage; otherwise…a Squib, an Imperio, and maybe a pair of pliers – now there's an idea!"

"You leave my daughter out of it." Frank's face was stony.

"Fine, fine." Peter lifted his hands placatingly. "It was just an idea. – All right then, a tooth." He pointed his wand tip to Snape's face, and was instantly rewarded when Severus curled up, clutching his jaw with hands that still trembled from the Cruciatus. "Maybe the stomach next?" For a few minutes, he worked his way over different body parts. There was a nightmarish, otherworldly quality to this reality, to this silent torture in this darkened room, with the lamp casting flickering shadows along the walls. Hannah didn't know what would have been worse – to actually hear Severus moaning or screaming, or to continue in this eerie silence, as the twisting and turning of his body told of terrible pain and yet the only sounds in the room were Peter's voice, naming the next part to be targeted with clinical detachment, and Severus' gasping, choking breaths.

Pettigrew, at least, didn't seem to be satisfied with his victim's nearly soundless suffering. After only a few minutes, he straightened up. "That's enough of that," he said abruptly. He turned business-like towards Hannigan. "How long will it take for…_it _to get here?"

"Not very long. A couple minutes."

"All right then. Summon it." There was a greedy smile on Pettigrew's face. "I know you have waited for this moment even longer than I have. It is time."

Hannigan nodded. "It's time."

He performed a complicated incantation, drawing figures in the air and muttering words that she couldn't hear but that made her feel chilled to the core. Finally, Hannigan stepped back with a satisfied nod. "It'll be here soon."

"Good." Pettigrew rubbed his hands together. "I really can't wait. But before it comes, should we…" He stopped short. "Did you hear that? It couldn't be here yet, could it?"

"No," Hannigan said with irritation. "I don't think so. What now?"

"I don't know. Something outside." He walked over to the front door. It wouldn't open. "Would you kindly take the seal off the door?" Pettigrew said impatiently. "I don't have time for this."

Hannigan pointed his wand with a mock bow and a condescending smile. "At your service." Pettigrew stopped for a moment, his ear close to the door, listening. Frank huffed in annoyance.

"Shhh." Pettigrew put his finger to his lips

"I don't hear anything…"

"I said _be quiet_." Warily, wand in hand, Pettigrew opened the door a crack. Still nothing. He opened it a little further and listened again. "I know I heard…"

At that moment, something furry and gray streaked between his legs, dashing across the floor and disappearing under the sofa. "A cat," he hissed. "I hate cats." He closed the door with a snap.

"So that is what you heard," Hannigan said with a grin. "Oh, come now, in a place like this there must be dozens of abandoned barn cats roaming the neighborhood. Surely you aren't going to be bothered by one flea-bitten feline, _Wormtail_?"

Pettigrew had got down on hands and knees and was attempting to peer into the narrow space beneath the sofa. A dust-ruffle that reached all the way to the floor blocked his view. He stuck out a hand to move the fabric, hesitated, then thought better of it and instead fired off a blind spell at the invisible creature. Hannah could feel the cat dashing around, bumping into the springs beneath her.

Hannigan was laughing out loud now. "Shouldn't you open that door again, Wormtail? At least that way your _cat_ can leave if it wants to." He watched in amusement as Wormtail flinched at the word. "_Cat._ You really don't like them much, do you? I wonder why…" He turned with a quick grin to where Snape had rolled over on his side and was painfully, trembling all over, trying to get up. A second later, he was back on the floor, his limbs locked. "You better stop fussing about the cat and start paying attention to old Snape here."

Beneath her, Hannah could feel the cat struggling in one spot, jerking and bumping against the underside of the sofa. _Can't get out either, can you_? she thought distractedly. _Caught, just like us. Poor beast. _

_.-.-.-_

Severus lay on his back, stunned by more than the spell. He _knew _that cat. How she had got here, he didn't know. But here she was. And maybe she wasn't alone…for a moment, there was piercing hope…

_And then…_

The light in the room seemed to fade, growing steadily dimmer as darkness crawled into the room in writhing, sinuous tendrils. The temperature, already cold, dropped by several degrees. There was a faint rustle as something slowly came down the chimney. With a soft sputtering noise, the lamp went out entirely. All hope drained away. In his head, he heard his father's voice, shouting._ 'You'll never amount to anything, you pathetic nothing...' _He had been right, of course. What _had _he been thinking? His one regret was having dragged Hannah into all of this. He should have never let her get tangled up with him, should have warned her that he had the opposite of the Midas touch, that everything _he_ touched turned to soot and ashes and gall… He heard Hannigan whisper '_Lumos_' and in the sudden faint glow of the wand tip he saw the creature gliding towards him, towering, hooded, a living nightmare. And then the beastly thing was leaning over him, lowering itself until it knelt next to him. He could smell its putrid breath as it bent down low, mouth open, slowly, gently, lovingly, to Kiss him. _You deserve this_…a voice said. _You know you do…._ He closed his eyes in surrender; it would be over now, over soon…

And then the voice in his head stopped.

He opened his eyes in surprise. The dementor had lifted its head as if listening. And then it straightened up. And made right for Hannah.

_.-.-.-._

When the dementor arrived, she had known what it was. She didn't have to see the creature to feel the darkness and dampness and despair that seemed to follow those vilest of the Ministry's servants. _They were going to have him Kissed. Oh God, no. No. _Somewhere beneath her, she could still hear the cat scrambling feverishly to get out, to get away. The noise seemed far removed as she focused on the horror in front of her, soundlessly shouting at it to stop, to leave him be. _He isn't for you_, her mind screamed. _He's mine._ _You can't have him._ And then something changed. It was as if that…that thing out there was listening. She could feel its intent change, as the darkness seemed to condense into one spot even more pitch black than the rest of the room. And then that spot began to slowly glide towards her.

Vaguely, from far away, she heard her father shouting. She hid her face in her hands, shuddering and shaking, and then felt something slimy cold begin to pry them away, inch by inch. Despair dragged at her like a physical weight, leaden on her limbs. An icy hand caressed her face. _As you wish,_ a dead, quiet voice said in her head, softly, mesmerizing. _I'll have you, then. I'll have you first. Don't be afraid…at least you won't be left behind, alone…_The black thing seemed to surround her, so cold it was freezing her skin, freezing her breath, and there was nothing left but deathly terror…

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

The darkness was broken by a silvery-white form that broke from the tip of her father's wand. Something like a huge, glowing bulldog, charging the dementor, teeth bared, driving it backward, inch by inch, until finally, with a flapping of robes, the creature slid back up the chimney, the silvery dog following behind. The unnatural darkness faded. With a soft puff, the lamp sprang back to life. The cat finally burst out from underneath her, threads hanging around its neck. It looked around, disoriented, and then ran back under the sofa.

Her father, pale and shaking, was leaning against the stove.

"What did you do that for?" Wormtail screeched irately, stomping his foot. "You chased it away!"

"I couldn't…" Frank swallowed, and visibly pulled himself together. "It was one of my conditions that my daughter would remain unharmed," he said, pulling himself to his full height. "Until I decide what to do with her."

"But it wasn't done with Snape yet! You promised me the Dementor's Kiss for him! You promised!"

Hannah let out a slow, shuddering breath as the cloud of despair left in the wake of the dementor lifted. She looked over towards Severus, who lay motionlessly on the floor, eyes closed. She wasn't able to tell if the dementor had succeeded, or if he was simply still caught in the body-bind. She hoped and prayed with all that was within her that in this case, Wormtail was right, that it didn't have time to finish...

"I don't know what happened," Hannigan said, confusion on his face. "It was supposed to go after Snape…"

Pettigrew threw his hands up in exasperation. "Well, it didn't. So much for your dementor." He walked over, and nudged Snape's leg with his boot tip. "How does it feel, Snape, to know that your soul is too black and blighted even for a dementor's taste? I guess it felt your lady would make a better meal…"

Severus opened his eyes at that, glittering black and full of hate. Hannah drew a sobbing breath of relief.

Pettigrew had turned back to Hannigan. ""Well, can you get another one?" he complained. "That was your part of the bargain."

"I did what I could," Hannigan said shortly. Briefly, his eyes flitted over to Hannah. "She looks too much like her mother," he muttered softly, his face drawn. "I couldn't let it…"

He straightened up, glaring at Pettigrew. "It was agreed that you would finish off what the dementor left, wasn't it? So just go and kill him now. I'm tired of waiting. Things seem to have a tendency to go wrong when Snape is involved. So go do it now."

"No." Pettigrew looked like a petulant little boy. "If you can't get him Kissed, then I should have the right to at least amuse myself a little longer."

Hannigan had pulled out Snape's wand and stood next to his supine body. "Either you do it, or I will. Now."

"Fine, then." With a pout, Pettigrew brandished his wand and walked in a circle around Snape's body. He turned to Hannah with a leering grin. "You better pay attention now. You wouldn't want to miss this." He took a few steps towards her, stopping just out of arm's reach, then turned his back, facing Severus. "Watch now."

She _was _watching. Her eyes locked with Severus'. She smiled through the tears and mouthed "I love you" at him, and there was just the hint of a crinkle around his eyes, enough to let her know he had seen and understood. In the middle of the nightmare, there was a moment of perfect quiet, of peace.

Pettigrew had seen. "Keep looking at him, then; look into his eyes," he said. "Go ahead. Don't miss the moment when he ceases to exist, the traitor. You can tell, you know, the exact second the soul leaves…" He sounded excited now, thrilled. He lifted his wand dramatically. Frank Hannigan took a couple steps back, away from Snape's motionless form. "AVADA KEDA—"

Hannah could hear the quiet movement of a small, furry body. On velvet paws, the cat had jumped silently up on the sofa next to her, behind Pettigrew's back. As Pettigrew lifted his arm, it crouched and jumped, launching itself from the sofa, claws extended. The animal's screaming hiss came right at the same time as the last syllable of the curse.

"—VRA!" The body of the tabby collided with Pettigrew's wand arm, knocking it off course. A green beam shot from the wand tip, crossing the room, missing its intended target, but finding another: Hannigan, a mildly surprised look on his face, slowly collapsed, falling, as in slow motion, over Snape's outstretched body.

* * *

A/N: In our officially-poor-as-dirt days, we actually owned a sofa close to the one here, and our cat managed to tangle herself in threads hanging down from the underside of the thing and just about did herself in – so that part is based on personal experience! 

Review, please?


	50. Turnaround

First of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed! And then a major thank you to Bellegeste, lalaluu, and Verity Brown for all your help – this chapter was a bugbear to write, and the finished product would have been much worse if not for your input!

Next, a shameless plug: Mist and Vapor was nominated in two categories in the next round of the Multifaceted Awards – thanks to whoever nominated me! If you think Hannah deserves recognition in the OC category (_Identity_), then hop over there after February 22nd and vote! There's a link on my profile page.

* * *

For the space of one collective heartbeat, the room was quiet. Then, everything seemed to happen at once: Pettigrew let out an oath as he watched Hannigan fall. Behind him, the cat started to stretch, grow, change shape. And Severus got his wand back. 

Maybe Minerva had counted on Pettigrew being too stunned by Hannigan's death to pay attention for the few seconds it took fully to transform, seconds during which she would be completely defenseless. If so, she had figured wrong. Pettigrew wheeled around, his spell hitting her in half-transformation, freezing her in a grotesque in-between stage, half woman, half cat. Yet those few seconds when Pettigrew's attention was directed elsewhere were all the time Snape needed.

He had been released from the body-bind as soon as Hannigan was hit by the curse. As the heavy body fell across him, immobilizing him, Severus desperately groped for his wand, still loosely clasped in the dead man's hand, almost out of reach. Almost, but not quite. The relief when he finally felt the slim piece of wood against his palm was indescribable. Still-trembling fingers closed tightly around the handle. He wasn't helpless any more, no longer at their mercy. He had a chance now. He pointed the wand. "_Stupefy!"_

A beam of red light shot from his wand tip, flying towards Pettigrew. But the small wizard had stopped paying attention to Minerva just in time. With a breathless squeak, he dove out of the way.

A split-second later, the lamp shattered, hit by Pettigrew's spell. The light went out; the smell of kerosene filled the air. Out of the darkness came a green beam, blindly aimed at the general area where Snape still lay on the ground. "_Avada Kedavra!"_

It took an instant for it to reach him. He could see it, almost as in slow motion, slicing through the blackness, green death, coming for him. Dimly, he was aware of someone shouting… And then it hit – Hannigan's body, still pinning him to the ground, hindrance and shield at the same time.

"_Expelliarmus_!" He fired the spell at where the green beam had come from, silently, blindly, in a sweeping arc, hoping for the best. He held his breath – and then heard the sound of a wooden rod hitting the farmhouse floor, bouncing once, then rolling away. This time, the spell had connected.

"_Accio wand!"_ With grim satisfaction he felt the wand fly into his outstretched hand. He had the Rat by the tail now… "_Lumos_!" His wand tip lit up with a bright, bluish light, casting shadows across the room.

Minerva still lay in a silent heap on the floor. Hannah sat hunched on the sofa, looking at him with wide, scared eyes, as if still stunned. Best thing she could do, really, to stay out of the way of the flying curses. No sign of Pettigrew. Snape cursed under his breath. Had he Disapparated? He hadn't heard the typical "pop." Transformed, then?

"I think he is under here," Hannah whispered at him, her face pale against the darkness. "I heard something move…"

He nodded. It stood to reason – under the sofa was virtually the only shelter in the room.

He pointed his wand at Minerva. "_Finite Incantatem." _Rat hunts were _her _specialty. As he took off the spell, she lay still for a moment.

"Go get him," he said, sotto voce. In response, her form shrank, one second, then two, changing back, assuming her cat-shape once again. She got on her paws, stretched – and ran under the sofa.

Scuffling. Hisses. Panicky squeaks.

"Hannah?" he called out. Since she could speak, he assumed the spell had fallen off her, too. He had to get her out of the way. If the Rat should run out, he needed to have a clear shot, without having to worry about hitting her. In an instant, she was kneeling by his side, rolling the heavy body of her father off him.

"Are you all right? What can I do?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "Lord, Severus, that was horrible. You must be in so much pain."

"Help me sit up." One arm around his shoulders, one at his elbow, she helped him into a sitting position as a loud, screaming yowl came from under the sofa. She slid in behind him, supporting his back, her hands against his shoulders. "Stay back there," he ordered in a low hiss. Knowing Minerva, this shouldn't take long….

A moment later – a sharp squeak, scrabbling, silence, and then the tabby emerged from under the sofa, bleeding from a bitten nose and paw, the struggling rat in her mouth, firmly grasped by the scruff of the neck. She gave him a good shake as she walked towards Severus.

"Well done, Minerva," Severus said grimly.

"That's _McGonagall_?" Hannah asked, blank astonishment in her voice.

"You didn't know she was an Animagus?" Severus watched as the cat, looking as grim as a feline possibly could, dropped the rat on the floorboards a few feet in front of him, pinning the rodent down with one paw.

Hannah shook her head. "No, I didn't. Too bad we can't just tell her to finish him off," she said in a hard voice.

"Tempting, though." Snape looked down at the shivering rodent. "Well, Pettigrew, do you want to die as a rat?" he said, his voice cold and mocking. "Shall I tell the _cat_ to finish you off?"

A convulsive shudder ran through the rat at those words; his pink, quivering nose turned frantically; beady eyes looked from the glowing wand tip pointing at him to the green eyes of the cat, still unblinkingly staring down at him. There was no chance of escape. A moment later, his body stretched and bulged, and then Pettigrew, restored to human form, knelt on the floor.

"You wouldn't kill an unarmed man, would you?" the slightly wheezy voice of the Animagus wheedled. He was kneeling on the floor, arms wrapped around his chest, hands hidden in his armpits, slightly rocking himself. "You wouldn't hurt a defenseless wizard?"

"Why wouldn't I, Wormtail?" Snape said coldly. "It didn't stop _you._"

The cat had begun to transform. A moment later, the regal, unbending shape of Minerva McGonagall stood between Pettigrew and the sofa, lips pressed together tightly, her face and hand bleeding slightly, her wand pointed at Pettigrew

"Are you all right?" he asked, glancing at her, his wand still trained on the pudgy wizard.

"I'm fine," she said grimly. "Just minor cuts. It can w—"

"_Watch out_!" Hannah shoved Severus hard, out of the way, as Pettigrew lunged forward, right hand stretched out, the fingers transformed into something long, thin, and lethal, glinting a dull silver in the wand light. Even as Severus fell, his wand arm shot forward, his spell hitting their attacker in mid-motion.

A shout, and then Pettigrew was yanked up, hoisted into the air by his ankle, still slashing madly at thin air with his silver hand.

"Oh no you don't!" Snape's voice was laced with venom.

Limbs trembling, he attempted to get up. Hannah quickly rose to help him, snaking an arm around his waist, holding him steady. He stood shakily, leaning on her, waiting for the world to stop spinning. For a moment he was afraid he would black out, but then his vision cleared and the room moved into focus. He tentatively let go – his knees felt weak, but they did support his weight. Good.

He turned towards Pettigrew, anger surging like poison through his veins, contempt written on every line of his face as he stared at the hated wizard, whose drooping visage was inextricably linked with pain, fear, and humiliation. As it had been since the time they had been in school. There were so many bad memories with Pettigrew's face in them.

"Remember that spell, Wormtail? It used to be quite the fashion, didn't it?"

The wizard's arms flailed as he dangled helplessly by his ankles. His robe had fallen down around his chest to reveal a pale, round belly, short, hairy legs, and underwear that had seen better days.

"One of your favorites, wasn't it? Always happy for Potter and Black to entertain you, weren't you?" He was breathing hard. "It's my turn now."

Pettigrew's beet-red face, eyes bulging with fear, looked out between the dangling folds of his robe.

Snape took a menacing step towards him. "Did you know I invented that spell? There are other spells I invented, spells much more impressive. I could gut you, Wormtail, gut you like a pig…"

"It's over, Severus," the urgent voice of McGonagall broke in. "Don't do anything that will land you in Azkaban _now_. Flitwick and Lupin should be here any minute."

There was no indication that he had heard her as he took another step towards the wizard, a mad glint in his eyes, lifting his wand. Pettigrew started screaming, high-pitched, falsetto screams, begging for mercy. Out of the corner of his eye Severus saw McGonagall, her wand now pointed at _him._

He felt Hannah's hand on his shoulder, holding him back. "Don't," she whispered. "Please don't."

For a moment he stood motionlessly, and then lowered his wand a fraction of an inch. "These ladies just saved your life," he hissed at Pettigrew, his face contorted in a rictus of hatred. "You'd better be grateful." He lifted his wand again. "Tell them how _grateful_ you are, Wormtail."

When the small wizard only whimpered in response, he twitched his wand, and Pettigrew jerked up and down in mid-air, like a puppet in the hands of an angry puppet master.

"Thank you," Pettigrew squeaked, babbling now, "Thank you for not letting him hurt me…so kind of you…"

"Don't, love," he heard Hannah's soft voice in his ear. "Please."

He stood still again, his body tense, looking into Pettigrew's hated face. He could feel Hannah standing behind him, one arm wrapping lightly around his waist, her other hand gently rubbing his shoulder. For a second, he closed his eyes. A long exhalation, and he lowered his wand. He could hear her softly let out her breath behind him. "You take him, Minerva," he said, his voice cold and empty. Hannah's hand slid down to his upper arm, turning him around, and a moment later he found himself held tightly, her hands running over his shoulders, his hair, his back.

He let his forehead drop against her shoulder, closing his eyes, shivering with exhaustion, for the moment not caring if Pettigrew or McGonagall saw him. He was so tired all of a sudden, tired and empty, aching and cold. All he wanted was to go home, lie down, just hold her. And let her hold him. "I wouldn't have done it," he murmured. "I just wanted to see him scared for once…"

"I know," Hannah whispered, holding him close, one hand rubbing soothing circles against the back of his neck. She could understand the desire for revenge. After all, part of her was still searing with the memory of the pain Pettigrew had inflicted on him. And that part wanted to watch the Rat suffer and die an agonizing death. If anyone deserved to die, he did. It would have been one thing if McGonagall had been carried away by her feline instincts – _that_ would have been a nice, tidy end for the vermin. But not like this. Not with him…_hanging _there. No, better to let the Aurors take him, to let him get the Dementor's Kiss he had planned for Severus.

"_Stupefy_," she heard the voice of McGonagall murmur before she lowered Pettigrew's limp body to the ground next to the sofa. "No use running any more risk than necessary…"

Severus lifted up his head, Hannah's arms still around him. "Lupin and Flitwick are coming?"

"Yes. I sent Tonks back to get them."

"_Tonks?"_

"Well, yes, she was the only one who could find you."

His face must have shown his confusion, because Minerva smiled up thinly from where she was kneeling next to Pettigrew, ropes shooting from her wand tip to firmly tie his hands and wrists together.

"Remember what you did with the paperclip that we charmed to track Hannigan?"

For a moment, the blank look persisted, and then, comprehension dawning on his face, Severus stuck a hand in his left robe pocket – and pulled out the paperclip.

"That's how," Minerva said dryly. "I just wish it had occurred to me a bit earlier that you might still have it, or we would have been here sooner."

Hannah looked up at him, puzzled. "What _are _you talking about?"

"Long story," he said, bending down to kiss her hair. "I'll tell you later."

"Don't know what's keeping them," McGonagall murmured, pulling Pettigrew's robe down over his legs. "Pomfrey should take a look at you, but I really don't want you Apparating by yourself in your condition."

Severus didn't seem to be listening to her as he gently ran a finger over Hannah's swollen lip. She could feel her heart beat faster at his touch.

"Kiss me?" she asked. "Please?"

"I want to," he murmured, "but I don't want to hurt you…"

She looked up at him, half laughing, half crying. "It's all right, really, it is…"

He kissed her carefully, and she closed her eyes, enjoying for a moment the warmth of his body against hers, his smell, his breath on her skin. Then a shiver shook his frame, bringing her back to reality.

She pulled back slightly and kissed the tip of his nose. "Come and sit down now; you're exhausted. I don't know how you're even…"

There was a loud bang as the door flew open, the handle hitting the wall behind it with a resounding crash. Both their heads turned with surprise. Grey daylight poured in around three figures, outlined against the brightness. A split second passed, as the intruders took in the scene and Hannah registered half-subconsciously that their wands were drawn and that not a single one of the outlines resembled Flitwick. Then Severus half turned, shoving Hannah away from him with force. Scarlet light flashed from three wands, hitting him in the chest, lifting him off the ground. His wand flew away in a high arc as he was thrown backward, hitting the enclosure of the cold fireplace with a dull thud, then landing in a crumpled heap on the stone hearth.

From where she had fallen, Hannah looked on wide-eyed, rigid with shock. _No. This was wrong. It was supposed to be over._ _They were supposed to be_ safe

As one of the Aurors crouched down next to her father's body, the other two still standing with their wands at the ready, she scrambled across the floor, kneeling next to Severus.

He lay in front of the fireplace, his face the color of skimmed milk, his eyes closed, a trickle of blood running out from under his head. There was something dreadfully wrong about the angle of his leg.

"Get away from him," a harsh voice shouted at her.

"You drop your wand this instant, young man." She heard McGonagall's angry voice as the witch stepped between them and the Aurors. "Is that you, Astley? What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

While McGonagall was talking, Hannah pressed her finger against Severus' neck, feeling for his pulse, cold panic filling her chest. "Severus?" She could feel his blood pulsing, thready and thin under her fingertip, much too fast. His chest was lifting in quick, shallow breaths.

"Professor McGonagall?" Another voice spoke up, vastly more respectful. "Is that you?"

The Auror who seemed to be in charge spoke up sharply. "Ma'am, you will lower your wand right now or I'll…"

Rapid footsteps, more noise behind her – and then the voices of Lupin, Fitwick, and some woman she didn't recognize, out of breath, shouting at the Aurors to drop their wands…

Hannah looked over her shoulder, her voice frightened, panicky. "Someone, please, can't you_ do_ something? He's hurt!" She quickly turned back when she heard a low moan. Severus' eyes fluttered open. He looked at her, disoriented, frowning as if trying to remember, grimacing with pain.

She put her hand against his cheek, her voice quivering. "Severus? How bad is it?"

Before he could answer, the lead Aurors walked forward. "Ma'am, I have to ask you to step away. He's the suspect in a murder."

"Pettigrew killed Frank," Minerva broke in obstreperously. "I _saw_ it. Severus did absolutely _nothing _wrong."

"I'm afraid I have to follow protocol." The Auror turned his back to her dismissively.

Flitwick pushed his way through the group, shaking with indignation, looking fire and brimstone at the Auror. "He is injured, can't you see that? Whatever you want to ask anyone has to wait until he is properly taken care of. Now _get out of the way_!"

With raised eyebrows and a smirk, the Auror took a step back. As Filius knelt down next to her, Hannah could hear snippets of excited voices in the background, Remus, Minerva, and the young witch trying to explain to the Aurors what had happened. She gently stroked Severus' forehead, looking into his eyes, coal black against the pallor of his skin, as she waited for Flitwick's verdict_. Please, be all right._

Filius ran his wand over Severus' body in quick, careful examination. "His leg is broken; his wrist, too. And a concussion. There might be internal damage I can't see. This_ isn't_ my area of expertise. We should get him into Madam Pomfrey's care as quickly as possible." A flick of his wand, and a stretcher appeared. He spoke gently to Severus. "I'll have to immobilize you, stabilize your bones, so that it doesn't hurt you more when we move you. Do you understand me?"

Snape nodded weakly, his face tight with pain. Another wave of Flitwick's wand, his injured right side stiffened in position, and then Flitwick gently floated him up onto the stretcher. Hannah had got up, too.

"Where do you think you're going?" the lead Auror accosted her.

"To Hogwarts," she said, her voice hard and brittle. "He is seriously injured. Do you really want to be responsible if anything happens to him? Do you imagine having an innocent man die in your care would do much for your career?" She fairly spat the words at him.

The Auror looked uncertain. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind. He looked back behind him. "Astley, take him to St. Mungo's. Book him into the secure ward until we get this sorted out. We have two other eye-witnesses; we can wait to interview him."

At that, Severus' hand shot out and grasped hers so tightly it hurt. There was panic in his eyes. Hannah's felt something twist painfully in her chest. After his experiences in the Ministry's tender care…

She turned on the Auror, cold anger on her face.

"You are taking him_ nowhere_." Such was the tone of her voice that the man took an involuntary step back. "He was treated like dirt the last time you people took him. I'll be damned if I let you do that do him again when he did _nothing _to deserve this. We will take him to Hogwarts' infirmary, and one of your men may come along if you think it necessary." She looked at him bitterly, the corners of her mouth turning down in a cold sneer. "Do you really think that after what you did to him he is in any position to run off? Even if he wanted to?" She motioned to Filius. "Let's go!" The old wizard nodded at Remus, who moved to the other side of the stretcher.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," the Auror said sharply, stepping in her way. "I _might _consent to his transport to Hogwarts – under guard, of course – on the condition that _you _remain here. This_ is_ a murder scene. From what I understand the other witness" – he jerked his head in McGonagall's direction – "was not on the scene for the entire sequence of events. So you and he are the only people who know exactly what happened." He gave her a hard, half-mocking look. "_One_ of you is going to have to stay. Your choice."

She wanted to argue. Lord, she wanted to argue, telling this lout exactly where he could stuff his delusions of omnipotence. But it wasn't worth it – Severus needed help as quickly as possible, and every second that she argued with this stiff-necked buffoon postponed when he would get it. Dejectedly, she nodded to Flitwick and Remus. "You take him." She bent over the stretcher and kissed Severus lightly on the forehead, one hand cupping his cheek, her thumb caressing his face. "I'm so sorry. I'll see you as soon as I can." Her voice quivered and bent. "You just be all right, you hear?"

One corner of his mouth curled up. "I'll try," he answered, his voice barely audible.

"You'd better," she said sternly, her crooked smile and the tears running down her face making a liar out of the tone of her voice.

The young witch with the oddly colored hair had stepped up, as well. "Don't you worry, Snape, I'll make sure she's treated decently. I'll get her to Hogwarts as soon as Davis here," she said in a low voice, casting an irritated glance at the Auror in charge, "gets off his high horse."

As Filius and Remus left with their charge, trailed by one of the Aurors, the witch put her arm around her. Hannah noticed distractedly that she was wearing Auror insignia, too. "He'll be all right now," she said soothingly. "They'll take care of him."

Hannah closed her eyes for a moment, hoping fervently that the witch was right, willing the tears to stop. It wouldn't do to appear weak in front of that – Davis, was his name? She could have cheerfully scratched his eyes out right now. _He _was responsible for Severus being hurt. And the only reason he and his men would have even shown up when they did was that at least Davis, if not all of them, had to have been in on the plan to at least some degree in the first place.

Davis looked at her coldly, pointing to the sofa. "Have a seat."

Within a few minutes, the room was swarming with Aurors, some of them taking the still-unconscious body of Pettigrew off to a Ministry holding cell, others removing her father's body, taking it away to the Examiner's office to determine cause of death, still others performing wand checks and gathering evidence. Davis took turns interviewing her and McGonagall, first separately, then together, asking about the timeline of events, every little detail, over and over again, until she was trembling with aggravation. Finally Tonks, as she had found out the green-haired young Auror was called, stepped in.

"Look, Sir, she's told us everything she knows, you've got it on your Dicto-Pad, and Professor McGonagall is willing to come back to the Ministry to give a sworn statement to anyone you think needs to hear it. Now would you _please _let her go? And, Sir, it mightn't hurt to tread a bit more carefully. No matter which way you turn it, what happened here doesn't throw a good light on the Department. And you did use a bit of excessive force – Snape would be within his rights to sue for assault and battery. And she's Snape's fiancée."

Davis looked at the two women, his lips pressed into a thin line. "We only used a Disarming Charm," he said. "Nothing illegal."

"_Three_ of you used a Disarming Charm," Tonks said. "On a wizard whom your boss tortured and almost had Dementor Kissed. Putting that wizard in hospital. Now, just humor me, but I think the Wizengamot might just take a dim view on…"

"Frank told us he was trying to trap two Death Eaters," Davis interrupted petulantly. "How were we to know…"

"Look, I really don't care right now," Hannah broke in, almost crying with impatience. "I just want to _go_."

She could almost see the conflicting thoughts doing battle behind the smooth façade of Davis' face. Finally, he forced a smile on his face as he turned to her. "You say you would be willing to come to the Ministry tomorrow to tie up any loose ends?"

Hannah nodded impatiently, hands balled into fists. "Anything."

"Fine." He looked at McGonagall. "You'll come with me, then. Tonks, take Miss Hannigan back to Hogwarts. You may relieve Astley and make sure Mr. Snape doesn't escape before the situation has been cleared up for good." There was an audible snort from Tonks at that, but she said, "Yes, Sir," quite respectfully. "Let's go before he changes his mind," she whispered into Hannah's ear, taking her arm and pulling her through the front door, tripping over the threshold as they hurried out. "We have to go outside, there are Anti-Apparition wards covering the house."

Hannah looked at her, feeling the blood drain from her face as the realization hit. Apparate? With this witch? She looked like she was barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts. And her looks did not inspire confidence in her professional abilities.

"What's the matter?" Tonks looked at her inquisitively. "It's no big deal, I've done it a million times before. Well, maybe not quite a million." She laughed.

_I can't do it_, Hannah thought, feeling like she had ice-water coursing through her veins, strangely lightheaded at the same time. _Not with her._

Tonks was starting to look offended. "Really, it's not a problem."

"I'm sorry," Hannah stammered. "It's just that…" _Merlin, Severus, the things I do for you…_ She had a sudden hysterical urge to laugh. If Severus thought that she was worth putting himself into the hands of two deranged wizards, then he was certainly worth Apparating with…this. With an effort, taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together. "All right." With a jerky motion, she grabbed on to Tonks' arm, pinching her eyes closed tightly. "Quickly, please."


	51. A Rough Night

Thanks to everyone who reviewed – and as always, many thanks to Bellegeste, lalaluu, and Verity Brown for all their help in polishing up this chapter! Go read their stories – there's good stuff there!

This chapter is dedicated to Surplus Imagination – she'll know why.

Now, back to the story…

* * *

In a moment, it was over, and Hannah was standing on the grass just outside the grounds at Hogwarts, her legs wobbling so badly she had to keep a hold on Tonks so as not to fall over. 

"You're a bit of a Nervous Nelly, aren't you?" Tonks said curiously.

"Only when it comes to Apparating," Hannah said weakly, wiping the tears off her cheek in a gesture of annoyance. "Let's go."

A few minutes later, Tonks right behind her, she pushed through the double doors of the hospital wing, out of breath from the long, hurried trip across the grounds and up the stairs to the third floor.

"_How is he?"_

"He'll be fine," Flitwick said calmingly. He and Remus sat on one of the beds that lined the main floor of the hospital wing. The Auror that had accompanied them perched on a windowsill, looking outside with a bored expression. "We don't_ exactly_ know what's going on," the small wizard continued, looking with chagrin at the closed door of the private room. "Pomfrey bundled us out of the room as soon as we had him settled on the bed. She's stuck her head out of the door a few times, though, and from what she said, it doesn't seem like there's anything the matter that can't be fixed."

Dizzy with relief, Hannah looked irresolutely at the closed door. She had a healthy respect for the school matron, and she didn't want to interrupt – after all, she was working to make Severus well. But, Lord, she needed to see him…

She had just about made up her mind to risk incurring the matron's wrath and knock, when Pomfrey's grey head peered out from behind the door. "Oh good, it's you," she said when she saw Hannah. "Come on in. He's being difficult. But what else is new?"

Severus lay on the bed farthest from the door, his face pale against the white linens. Hannah had that odd twisting sensation in her chest again. Without the folds of black fabric that usually swirled around him, his thin frame covered only by a light blanket, his bare arms sticking out of the short sleeves of the hospital gown, he looked strangely exposed. Smaller. Fragile, somehow. He opened his eyes as he heard their footsteps.

"Look what I found outside," Pomfrey said brightly.

"About time," he groused as he looked at Hannah, but she could see the relief in his eyes.

"Believe me, I would have liked to have been here sooner." She kissed his forehead lightly before sitting down on the chair next to his bed. "So? How are you?"

"It appears you'll have to put up with me a while longer." His voice was still much weaker than she would have liked, but at least there was the hint of a smirk around the corners of his mouth.

"Well, _that's_ a relief." She smiled a still rather shaky smile at him before turning to Pomfrey. "So what's the matter with him?"

"Well…" The matron looked at Severus and took a deep breath. "Do you want to tell her, or do you want me to?"

He pressed his lips together tightly before nodding for her to go on.

"Most of his injuries were quite basic – a broken wrist, a cracked rib, a laceration on the back of his head. All easily mended. His shoulder is badly bruised, but no breaks there. He'll be stiff and sore for a couple of days. He has a light concussion as well – occasional dizzy spells and some nausea. Anyway," Pomfrey continued, "other than a murderous headache for a couple of days, he'll be fine as far as that is concerned."

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" One look at him had been enough to tell her that he was still hurting badly. It didn't seem right for him to have to be in this much pain when the witch had the entire potions arsenal of the wizarding world at her disposal.

"Well, there are complications…" Pomfrey voice trailed off.

"What_ kind_ of complications?" Hannah asked warily.

"You do know that he was severely injured during the last battle?"

Hannah nodded. Yes, she did know that.

"Then you know that he never had a chance to heal right," Pomfrey continued. "Now he has re-injured the same area. Fractures in two places, across the pelvic bone and close to the knee. The break in the hip is particularly bad – the bone just shattered. I could patch him back up again, but it would be a bad job. There's simply too much damage. "

"So what does that mean?" She was holding his hand tightly between both of hers. She didn't like the sound of this at all. There had to be _something_ they could do…

Pomfrey eyed him narrowly. "Skele-Gro Potion. Remove the damaged bones in the hip and his right leg, and regrow them healthy. It would effect a complete cure."

Hannah looked at her uneasily. "And the downside…?"

"Is that it is quite…uncomfortable. These are some of the largest, heaviest bones in the body. He would be in for an exceedingly rough night. Skele-Gro and pain potion do not get along. As a matter of fact, Skele-Gro and a_ majority_ of potions – or Muggle medications, for that matter – do not get along." Pomfrey paused. "But my point is that it can _wait._ It's not something we have to deal with right this second. Even if Mr. Contrary here doesn't agree." She looked at Snape with a pruned-up mouth. "I told him he should take something for the pain now, have a restful night, and in a few days, when his other injuries are healed, _then_ do the procedure. It is uncomfortable enough without having all the other injuries and the residual effects from the Cruciatus to contend with as well."

"No," Severus said flatly.

"Why not?" Hannah asked. "It sounds reasonable."

"In case you forgot, I'm getting married on Saturday," he said dryly. "It will take at least two days until I'll be able to walk without aid. And I am _not_ having someone help me up to the altar."

"We could just move the wedding back a week or two," she said. "That would give you time enough to recuperate."

"I am _not _letting them interfere with our wedding plans," he said, his voice hard. "We _are_ getting married on Saturday."

Hannah looked up at Pomfrey. "Is it even possible?" she asked. "With all his injuries, is it even possible he'll be well enough on Saturday?"

Pomfrey threw him a measured look, her lips pressed together tightly. "Probably," she said begrudgingly. "Most of his other injuries are healed already. He has developed a certain…resilience to the effects of the Cruciatus curse. And once he takes the Skele-Gro, the new bones will form completely in about twelve hours. When that's over with, he can start taking the full potions regimen I would like him on right _now._ He might still be a little stiff, maybe have a headache, but yes, he'd probably be all right come Saturday."

There was glint of grim satisfaction in his black eyes at her words. That, and sheer determination.

Pomfrey had seen it, too. "Can't you talk him out of it?" She looked at Hannah in exasperation. "I really would rather have him wait. There's no reason for him to put himself through this right now."

Hannah cast a quick sideways glance at Severus' set face before giving the matron a lopsided smile. "It's his decision, I'm afraid." She couldn't really blame him for just wanting this over with as quickly and directly as possible, to have this chapter closed once and for all. That didn't mean she agreed – she didn't like the sound of "an exceedingly rough night"…not one little bit. But this _was_ his decision to make.

Pomfrey heaved a sigh of surrender. "I suppose I'll get ready, then. If you'll excuse me…?"

When she had left the room, Hannah lightly touched Severus' face. "Are you certain you don't want to wait?"

"Quite." He reached up and brushed a finger against her cheek. "So how are _you_ doing?"

She smiled a crooked smile at him. "Let's get you well first, and then we can worry about me."

"Your father died…"

"Yes. My father died." There was a hard edge to her voice.

"You told me it would still hurt to see him die, even if…"

"Don't," she interrupted him, her breaths coming quickly. "Severus, I watched him_ hurt_ you. Torture you, and enjoy every minute."

"He protected you from the dementor in the end. I can forgive him a lot for that." His fingers were cupping her chin.

"He would have killed you without a moment's hesitation. I don't think I'll _ever _be able to forgive him for that." Her voice was sharp and thin. She smiled a quick, flitting smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And I don't want to think about him right now." She leaned forward, running the tip of a finger over his cheek, her face softening. "There's someone vastly more important to think about at the moment. – So, really, how are you?"

"The pain is quite manageable." Which was a hazy approach to the truth – in spite of Pomfrey's best efforts, his leg still gave him quite a bit of pain, a constant dull throbbing punctuated by sharp, angry stabs. Not to mention that his head hurt, and most of the rest of his body was still raw from the Cruciatus and sensitive to the touch in all the places Pettigrew had "experimented." But she really didn't need to hear that.

"Hm…" She arched an eyebrow, a dubious expression on her face.

He gave her a quick, wry smile. "I told you, I'll live."

Right then, the door opened and Pomfrey bustled in, a tray with assorted beakers, potion bottles, and jars in her hands.

"If you are ready?" She looked at Severus, who in turn looked at Hannah.

"Get some rest," he said, caressing her face. "When you come back in the morning, I'll be much better."

She looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean? Come back?"

He hesitated. "I couldn't ask you to…" He knew that what Pomfrey meant by 'uncomfortable' was 'it'll hurt like hell.' There would be little sleep tonight. And he couldn't ask her to sit and watch him suffer again. She had done enough of that to last her a lifetime.

"I_ want_ to stay. You don't_ have_ to ask."

Pomfrey had turned and was ostensibly busying herself with the cabinet at the far side of the room.

"Hannah, I…"

"No," she interrupted him firmly. "Look, if you think you're doing me a favor by sending me away, you're wrong. It's actually about the worst thing you could do to me right now. So don't."

There was a short pause. It wasn't right. He _should _talk her out of this. He _should_ send her away – even though the familiar mulish look on her face made him doubt that she would listen. _And, Merlin, he wanted her to stay_… "Are you certain?" he asked hesitantly.

Hannah leaned forward, taking his face in her hands. "You listen to me now, Severus Snape." There was a fierce look in her eyes. "Of course I am certain. I love you. Where else would I be?"

For a moment, he held her gaze. When she wouldn't drop her eyes, he finally nodded, his voice barely more than a whisper. "In that case…I think I wouldn't mind the company."

"Good," she said, and the timbre of her voice and the look in her eyes made tears prick at the back of his eyelids. He turned his head to where Madam Pomfrey still stood with her back to them. "We're ready whenever you are," he said in a bright, brittle voice.

She approached the bed, all professional bustle. "Well, then, let's get started."

Hannah took his hand again as Pomfrey pulled out her wand. "Is this going to hurt him?"

"No." The matron shook her head. "This part of the procedure will be blessedly pain-free."

Even so, his hand tightened around Hannah's as the matron removed the bones – it was a peculiar sensation to feel his hip and leg just sort of…deflate beneath the thin hospital gown.

The relief was immediate. He exhaled slowly as the relentless ache in his leg stopped from one second to the next. With the main source of pain gone for the moment, he felt almost comfortable. His head still hurt, and there was a queasy feeling in his stomach, but as long as he lay very still, the rest of his injuries didn't bother him too much. Slowly, his jaw unclenched.

"Are you all right?" Hannah asked, looking a little green around the gills.

"Fine," he answered, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

Expertly, Pomfrey filled a beaker from the large potion bottle; steam rose in curling tendrils as she brought it over to Severus. "Just for the record, I still think this is a bad idea."

"Duly noted," he said dryly. "Now, if you would…?"

Resignedly, Pomfrey handed him the beaker. "Very well, then. Here you are."

Hannah helped him lift his head, and he raised the beaker to his mouth with his good hand. The potion burned on the way down, choking him.

"Well, you have maybe an hour or so before you'll feel anything," Pomfrey said, taking the beaker as he sank back into the pillows. "Relax and try to get a bit of a nap. Heaven knows you won't get much sleep later."

She handed Hannah a jar of potion. "This needs to be rubbed into his shoulder and the wrist that was broken every couple hours or so. It'll help bring down the bruising and swelling. I assume you can handle that?" Hannah nodded. "While you're at it, put some on your face," Pomfrey continued. "That's a nasty bruise you got there. As a matter of fact…" She stretched out her hand and tilted Hannah's face up by the chin. A quick movement of the wand, a moment of intense heat, and Pomfrey nodded with satisfaction. "There, better. But you should still put some of that salve on it."

Hannah felt with her tongue – the cut in her lip had disappeared. She smiled gratefully at Pomfrey. "Thank you. – Anything else I should know?"

The witch pointed to the tray, now sitting on the bedside table. "Not much. Everything else will have to wait until the Skele-Gro has done its job. There's water, if he gets thirsty, and an emesis basin, should he…well, you know. I'll have some dinner brought up for you in a little while. Severus can have some soup and toast if he feels up to it. If you need me for any reason, just call me, I'll hear you. – Any more questions?"

"If Remus and Filius are still out there, would you tell them Severus will be all right and send them off?" Hannah asked. "I don't think there is anything else they can do."

Pomfrey nodded as she turned towards the door. "Right, then."

.-.-.-.

As the door closed behind her, Hannah turned back to Severus. "You heard her. You should try and sleep while you have a chance."

"I don't know if I can."

"Well," she said reasonably, "why don't you close your eyes and find out?"

He tried. But the effects of the concussion didn't allow for sleep – his thoughts kept running around in circles like crups chasing their tails. He simply couldn't concentrate long enough to keep them reined in.

Just a few moments later, he opened his eyes again. "It's no use," he said petulantly. "I can't sleep."

"What's wrong? Anything I can do?"

He made an irritable gesture. "No. It's just…never mind." He shifted his upper body a little, wincing as he did so. "So tell me, what happened after…your father took you?"

"He just kept me locked in a room until Pettigrew sent a Portkey." She smiled at him. "Other than being worried out of my wits about _you,_ it was quite boring, really."

His lip curled down in a smirk. "So you got that bruise by being bored?"

She shrugged with a slight blush. "I tried to get away. It didn't work."

"I saw your father's face…"

"I told you," she interrupted him, "I don't want to talk about him right now." She leaned forward. "I _did_ hear all about your adventures at the Ministry. Thank God you didn't just toss that paperclip into the nearest rubbish bin." A shudder ran through her. "So many ifs – if Tonks hadn't known the tracking spell, if you hadn't kept the paper clip, if McGonagall hadn't remembered…" She looked at him, the anguish of the last twenty-four hours reflected in her eyes. "It seems a miracle we made it."

Reaching for her hand, he stroked her fingers lightly with his thumb. She was right – it did seem like a miracle. His thumb brushed across her empty ring finger. "You seem to have misplaced some valuables."

There was a little choking noise before she answered. "Pettigrew took it from me, when we first got to the farmhouse. I don't know what they…"

"Shh." He put a finger against her lips. "Look in there." He pointed to the drawer in the bedside table.

With a questioning, suddenly hopeful look, she opened the drawer – and clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back tears. "_My ring!_ How did you…?" She took it out carefully, the green stone glittering in the light.

"Let me have your hand." Awkwardly, he took the ring from her and pushed it back into its proper place. "There," he said with satisfaction. "That's better."

"Much better." She smiled tremulously. "How did you _get_ it?"

"Minerva didn't tell you?"

She shook her head. "They kept us separated much of the time. I only heard part of her story."

"They turned it into a Portkey." He ran his finger over the sparkling stone. "Sent it by owl. A handy way to convince me they had you and to get me where they wanted me, all at the same time."

"And you came." There was a soft, breaking note in her voice.

"I did not really have a choice."

"Yes." She put her hand on his forehead, brushing back his hair. "You did, love. You did have a choice." She seemed to be near tears again.

He looked at her with a smirk, glad for an opportunity to change the subject. "Is that what you plan on calling me from now on? Love?"

She gave him a small smile. "Sometimes. Do you mind? I'll stop if you do."

He thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "No. I don't mind." Out of all terms of endearment, she had chosen possibly the only one he could live with. All things considered, it wasn't such a bad thing, being someone's love.

"Good." She smiled again, bigger this time. "Then, _love_, I would really like you to try to go to sleep again, just for a little while."

"I told you, I can't…"

"Just close your eyes." She bent forward and kissed his eyelids. "Try and relax."

And this time, he found that he could focus on the touch of her hand, still stroking his hair, keeping his thoughts at bay with gentle rhythm. Within a couple of minutes, he was asleep.

.-.-.-.

He awoke some time later to a stinging, stabbing sensation in his leg, just as the door opened to admit Pomfrey, carrying a dinner tray.

"Well?" she asked. "Are you feeling anything yet? Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yes to both," he answered, blinking to regain clear thought.

She set the tray down. "I brought you dinner. There really isn't much I can do from now on, but I'll come in every hour or so to check on your progress." She turned to Hannah. "You _will_ be staying?"

Hannah nodded. "Yes."

"Good." The matron gave a nod of satisfaction. "_Lumos_." She held the brightly lit wand in front of his eyes, watching his pupils contract. Then she ran her wand over his body, muttering what he assumed were diagnostic spells. When she was finished, she stood up straight. "As good as can be expected. I'll leave the two of you alone, then. Enjoy your dinner."

His stomach was still too queasy for the idea of food to sound appealing. He reluctantly downed a few spoonfuls of the soup just to make Hannah happy, and then watched her eat a light supper.

When she had finished and deposited the dishes outside the door to be picked up by a house-elf, she sat back down next to him and picked up the potion jar that Pomfrey had left with her. "Let me see your wrist. I might as well make myself useful." She took his right hand and ran a finger over his swollen joint. "Does it still hurt?"

"It's sore," he admitted.

With one finger, Hannah dipped some of the salve out of the jar that Pomfrey had given her.

"So what happened after I…left?" he asked as she rubbed the potion gently into his skin.

Hannah shrugged. "Not much. They took Pettigrew away to a Ministry holding cell. Davis – the Auror in charge, don't know if you remember – seemed hell-bent on finding some way to make what happened your fault. But really, there was too much evidence: our testimonies, all the wand tests…. He finally had to believe us. Tonks helped, too. I don't think you have to worry."

He looked unconvinced. "We'll see." She couldn't blame him for that – in his place, she would be worried, as well, until he had his wand back and was officially cleared of suspicion.

"I should put this on your shoulder, too. – Are you all right?" She gazed at him questioningly. He seemed a bit paler than he had been a minute ago.

"I'm fine," he said irritably. "Go ahead."

Reaching around behind his neck, she untied the bow that held the hospital gown together and pulled the sleeve down carefully.

She winced as she saw his shoulder. It sported a thick red welt where he had hit the stone wall; a dark bruise was already spreading underneath. By tomorrow, this would have turned all sorts of colors… Dipping more ointment out of the jar, she started working the potion into the damaged tissue as gently as she could. "Let me know if I'm hurting you…"

She averted her eyes as a faint blush crept into her cheeks, her breaths growing shallow and quick as her body responded to the feeling of his smooth skin beneath her fingers. _Get a grip,_ she chastised herself as she massaged his shoulder. _He's hurt, for crying out loud._ But it felt good, touching him...

When she looked up again, a trace of pink still on her face, she saw that he had closed his eyes. There was a thin beading of sweat on his forehead. "Are you all right?" She bent over him with concern. "Severus?"

He didn't answer.

"Severus? What's wrong?"

Before she got an answer, he suddenly reached for the emesis basin, and she barely had time to help him turn and sit up a little before he was sick.

.-.-.-.

When she returned from emptying the basin a few minutes later, he lay with his head tilted back, the heel of his palm pressed against his temple.

She put the basin back on the bedside table. "That didn't help your headache at all, did it?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he said, his voice weak and surly.

She got up and walked over to the sink, retrieved a hand towel, wet it, and wrung it out. Gently, she placed the cold cloth against his forehead, pressing it into place with the flat of her hand.

"I feel so _feeble_," he said bitterly, his eyes closed, his mouth pulled down into a thin line.

"Don't," she said softly. "You're stronger than anyone I know."

He snorted contemptuously. Hannah looked at him with compassion. He had elevated independence to an art form, out of necessity – there had never _been_ anyone for him to lean on. However bad the pain caused by the Skele-Gro might be, she thought that the fact that the procedure rendered him bed-bound, dependent on others for even his most basic needs, was the real reason he had not opted to undergo it before. It was so hard for him to accept help from anyone, even from her. And even harder to ask for it. She took his hand in hers. It was so cold…

"Severus…" she began hesitantly. How could she phrase this so he would _hear_ her? "I want you to do something for me, if you would."

His eyebrows lifted in mockery, his mouth still settled into bitter, sour lines. "I hardly think I am in a position to…"

"Hush," she interrupted him gently. "Just listen for a moment." She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. "You asked me how I am doing. Truth is, I don't know right now. Everything is such a muddle. I was so scared today, Severus. It hurt so badly, thinking I was going to have to watch you die like that. And that if I wasn't a Squib, my father would not have been able to take me so easily, and you…" She stopped, wiping a tear away angrily. She hadn't meant to start crying.

"It wasn't your fault…" he began, and she stopped him again with a quick motion of her hand.

"And then to see you injured so badly and not be able to do a thing for you…" She swallowed, and then continued with a small smile. "Anyway…what I need is to feel _useful_ right now. So please, if there is anything you want or need, tell me? I _want _to know how you are doing, if there is anything that might make you feel better or help you. Please, let me do for you what I can?" She touched his cheek lightly. "You're my family now. Let's get through this _together._ Please?"

He looked at her, a strange, tight expression on his face. "I'll try." His voice was hoarse.

She squeezed his hand tightly. "That's all I'm asking."

_.-.-.-._

When he had been laid up in St. Mungo's, delirious with pain and fever, surrounded by hatred and apathy, he had daydreamed into existence some slip of a girl who would come and sit with him and put her hand on his brow and tell him to just hold on a little longer, that the pain would get better soon. He had felt weak and foolish, but his semi-conscious mind had imagined her so hard that sometimes he could almost feel her hand on his forehead. It was the only kindness and care he had received in that place.

And now there was Hannah. Real, warm, flesh and blood. She was better than anything he could have imagined. Most of the time he did not even have to ask as she anticipated his wishes, reading his face and body language to see what he needed – a drink of water, a cool cloth, a hand to support his head, the sound of her voice to distract him from the pain.

As the pain got worse, she cared for him – wiping the cold sweat from his face, massaging sore muscles, telling him how wonderful he was: gentle, soft, floating kinds of words, terms of endearment that at any other time would have been quickly shot down with a sarcastic comment, but that right then felt _right_; words where the tone of her voice and the expression on her face were more important than anything she said.

When the pain reached an intensity that didn't allow for casual touch or distraction any more, when all his energy was spent simply on enduring, she was still there, quietly, arms firmly wrapped around him, holding him, in a soft voice reminding him that the night would soon be over.

And when in the early morning hours he finally told her that the pain was letting up, that he was getting better, she said "Thank God" in a broken voice and kissed him. She was still there when some time later Pomfrey came in with a satisfied expression and an array of potions, and he was finally able to fall into an exhausted sleep.

.-.-.

A few hours later, when he awoke, the first thing he saw was Hannah. Leaning forward, using his bed as a headrest, she had fallen asleep with her head pillowed on her crossed arms. There were shadows under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and her mouth was still swollen and bruised where Hannigan had hit her. Even asleep, she looked worn out. He didn't want to wake her – she had been up all night – but suddenly he had to touch her. Reaching out a finger, he brushed it across her cheek as softly as he could. He pulled back in chagrin as she opened her eyes. For a moment she blinked, disoriented, and then smiled at him, with the look that was _his_ – she didn't look at anyone else in the world like that.

Suddenly, a flood of emotion washed over him with such intensity that it left him dizzy and reeling, and he knew that right then and there the most butterfly-and-hearts-obsessed teenager in the school had nothing on him. His usually extensive vocabulary receded like the ocean at low tide, leaving him stranded high and dry, gasping for words and not finding any. Any, except three.

There must have been something showing on his face, because she looked questioningly at him as she sat up. "Is everything all right?"

"I love you," he said, and he sounded and looked so stunned that Hannah laughed as she leaned forward to kiss him. There were, she thought with a smile, few things in life more satisfying than watching the man you are about to marry realize he is in love with you.

"Of course you do," she said reasonably. "Do you think I would be marrying you if you didn't?"


	52. Getting Closer

Sorry about the very long delay, but my husband got rather ill and ended up having surgery, so I hope you'll all understand. In the muddle of medical tests and running back and forth to doctors, I also managed to completely get confused about which reviews I already answered and which I didn't – I am sorry about that!

But anyway, he is doing much better now and will actually attempt to head back to work for at least a half day tomorrow, so I finally managed to finish this chapter up. Well, actually this chapter was supposed to take us to the evening before the wedding, but it ran away from me and I ended up having to make it two chapters. So now I still have three chapters left!

As always, many thanks to Verity Brown, Bellegeste and lalaluu for lending a helping hand!

* * *

Pomfrey walked in on them right in the middle of a kiss. "Oh, don't mind me," she said with a hint of a smirk when Hannah and Severus pulled apart as she entered. "Believe me, there isn't much I haven't seen. – So how are you? Are the pain potions doing their job?" 

"For the most part," he said.

"Any more nausea?"

"No. Not since I took the potions."

"Good, good. – Well, let me see…" She stepped around to the other side of the bed and pulled back the covers. "Now, let me know when this gets too bad…" She picked up his lower leg and began to gently push his knee towards his torso, forcing the leg to bend. She didn't get too far before Severus drew in a hissing breath. "Good." She nodded with satisfaction. "More mobility than I expected at this point. All the bones, tendons, and muscles seem to have bonded perfectly. You should be pleased." She carefully set the leg back down. "Do you think you can sit up a little?" Hannah could see him flinch as Pomfrey raised the head of the bed a few inches. "Hip still giving you a bit of a twinge, is it?" Pomfrey said. "Well, that's to be expected, I'm afraid."

She tucked the blanket back in around him, then straightened up, a satisfied look on her face. "All right, then. I'll get your next round of potions ready, and some soap and water so you can freshen up." When she reached the door, she stopped. "Oh, and this house-elf – Gwinny, is it? Looks after your quarters, does she? – asked to take care of you. She'll bring your breakfast – should be lunch, really! – any moment now. Just thought I'd warn you."

She had barely closed the door behind her when there was a 'pop,' and the little house-elf, carrying a tray covered with assorted bowls and dishes, appeared in the middle of the room. Her smile stretched from bat-like ear to bat-like ear. "Master and Mistress be back!" She beamed at them. "Gwinny be so pleased!"

Balancing the tray on one hand, she snapped her fingers. A bed-tray popped into existence in front of Severus. "Madam Pomfrey say that you might be feeling peckish, so I brought you some nice food. Nice food for Mistress Hannah, at least – Madam Matron say only bland stuffs for Master Snape. On account of a fragile stomach. Poor, poor Master Snape." Shaking her head sadly, she set a cup of consommé and a bowl of thin rice gruel down in front of him.

Another snap of her fingers, and a small table from the other end of the room scooted into place next to Hannah; Gwinny carefully set the rest of the food down on it. There was a pot of coffee, milk and sugar, a bowl of fresh fruit cut into sections, two golden-brown croissants, butter and jam, an egg ("soft-boiled", Gwinny informed Hannah) in a small china egg cup, a slice of asparagus quiche, and a glass of orange juice.

Severus looked down his nose at the meager offerings in front of him, then cast a stern look at Gwinny. "Do take this away. I will be sharing Miss Hannah's breakfast."

Hannah was looking at him dubiously. She remembered only too well how ill he had been during the night.

"It's _my _stomach," he reminded her firmly. "And Pomfrey's potions are working quite well." With a distasteful expression, he let some of the glutinous grey gruel drop off the spoon into the bowl. "I am _not_ eating this appalling glop."

Gwinny looked from one to the other, obviously torn between Pomfrey's wishes and the fact that she didn't technically consider gruel food. "Madam Pomfrey will not be happy with Gwinny. Not at all happy," she muttered under her breath.

"I, on the other hand, will be quite pleased. Now, thank you, that will be all."

"Yes, _sir_."

Hannah grinned when the little elf disappeared with an "it's out of my hands" expression, taking along Severus' tray.

"You're not getting my quiche," Hannah said firmly as she saw Severus eyeing her food. "Much too heavy for your 'fragile stomach.' I might be persuaded to share the fruit and a croissant. If you really think you're up to it."

"I am. And I want the egg."

Grinning, she got up from her chair and sat down on the edge of his bed, expertly cracking the egg and peeling off the top part of the shell.

"You can't really eat this with one hand." It would have been hard to miss the way he still flinched every time he tried to use his right hand. She sprinkled a bit of salt on top of the egg and scooped out a spoonful. "Here." She held the spoon out to him.

He looked at her with drawn eyebrows. "You don't have to…"

Leaning forward, she gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. "Just hush and eat," she said with a smile.

When he had finished the egg, she handed him one of the croissants while she started tackling the quiche.

"I think after breakfast I'd better go and take myself off for a bit – I desperately need a shower," she said. She knew he wouldn't appreciate having an audience while Pomfrey helped him with his toilette, so this seemed as good a time as any. "And I should Firecall your mother and let her know about what happened before she reads about it in the paper."

He frowned. "_Gwinny_!" At his call, the elf rematerialized. "Can you get me a copy of this morning's _Daily Prophet_?" he asked her.

"Yes, Master Snape." She came back barely a minute later, the rolled up paper in her hands.

"Thank you," Hannah said as she took the paper from her. "And I meant to thank you for our breakfast, as well – it's perfect." As the elf Disapparated with a pleased grin, Hannah cautiously unrolled the paper and opened it to the front page, holding it so Severus could see.

_Deadly Skirmish Results in Capture of Wanted Death Eater. _

Oh no. It was there already. Not the banner headline, but quite visible in a side column of the front page. She quickly scanned the paper and gave a sigh of relief. The actual article was quite short.

_Peter Pettigrew, 40, the Death Eater responsible for the murder of Hogwarts student Cedric Diggory nearly four years ago, has been apprehended in the vicinity of the school by a team of Aurors. It is confirmed that the fighting resulted in at least one fatality. News reached the Daily Prophet only minutes before going to press, and further details are not at this time known. More information as it becomes available._

"I suppose the Ministry needs more time to decide exactly what sort of spin they want to put on the story," he said dourly.

"But at least we'll have time to tell your mother and aunt before they find out elsewhere," Hannah said. "Look on the bright side." She put the paper down and lightly touched Severus' face, now rough with a day's worth of stubble. "I really do think it will work out all right this time."

"Optimist," he muttered as he sipped the orange juice.

She just smiled as she put down the bowl of fruit next to him on the bedside table. "Well, I'd better go – you must be tired of looking at the disheveled mess that I am."

He looked up with a smirk. "Your hair does look…interesting."

She smirked back – it wasn't as if he looked his best at the moment: bed hair (even stringier than usual), stubble, dark circles under his eyes. The smile slowly faded – he was so pale, so tired – and then suddenly she was blinking back tears. "You just take care of yourself while I'm gone, all right?"

"Really, I _can_ get along without you for half an hour," he said with a touch of irritation.

She nodded with a crooked smile as she got up. "Of course you can. I'm just…" She stopped, suddenly aware of the thin, fraying ribbon holding her emotions together at the moment, all those things bubbling away under the surface because there hadn't been_ time, _a morass of feelings and impressions, of pain and fear, of the cold touch of a dementor's hands and Pettigrew's deranged cackle.

The bright mood had evaporated in a second; instead there was the panicky feeling that if she let him out of her sight for even a moment, something else would happen, something bad. She knew that she was irrational, that he was better, that he was safe now, but Lord, it had hurt, watching Pettigrew cause him so much pain in such a deliberate, cold-blooded way. And then there had been the terrible, relentless suffering of the night, hour after hour, and she didn't want to leave him, not yet, and she wanted him to not want her to leave. And his words just now had stupidly hurt her, and she knew she was being ridiculous and unreasonable and just plain too tired – it had been her idea to take herself off, after all! – and that normally she would have laughed. And instead, she felt like crying, and she knew that once she started, she wouldn't stop for quite a while, and she wanted him to hold her when that happened, and there just wasn't _time_. Pomfrey would be back any moment.

There was a confused, concerned expression on Severus face as he caught her hand when she got up. He looked at her, small worried lines around his eyes. "Are you all right?"

Hannah took a couple of quick, shallow breaths and swallowed hard. _Be reasonable, girl. He doesn't need this right now. If _you_'re knackered, think about how he must feel._

"Not quite," she said honestly. "It's just that sometime in the future, I'll need to borrow your shoulder and have myself a good cry." She smiled at him. "But it's not urgent. Nothing that can't wait until later. Really. I'll be fine."

He nodded, his eyes searching her face. "You are sure?"

"I am."

.-.-.-.

When she returned three quarters of an hour later, she had regained her composure. It was amazing what a difference in outlook a hot shower and a set of clean, comfortable clothes could make – she finally felt semi-human again. And the conversation with Severus' mother had gone better than expected – even if Hannah still caught a hint of something stand-offish and reserved every time she talked to her. In this case though, concern for her son seemed to have outweighed any of the awkwardness of talking to her future Squib daughter-in-law.

When she arrived back in Severus' room, she found the breakfast dishes cleared away and him lying in bed, wearing a fresh hospital gown and putting away his shaving kit.

"There – I feel better," she said with a grin as he looked up. "Do I look better?"

"You look…quite well." She liked the tone of his voice and the expression in his eyes as he looked her up and down. _He loves me_, she though with a flutter of joy. _He told me so._ It had been wonderful to hear him say it.

She looked back over her shoulder – she had passed the matron, busy with another patient, on the way in, but no one else had been outside the door. "I thought Tonks would still be out there. Did Pomfrey say what happened to her?"

"Apparently, she got a message a while ago saying she could leave. They didn't send a replacement. I assume that's good news."

Hannah smiled as she sat down. "It should be_…_I hope that means you are officially off the suspect list."

"Maybe." He cleared his throat. "Did you talk to my mother?"

She nodded. "She was quite upset, of course. I'm glad I was able to tell her that you're out of danger and on the mend now. They wanted to visit today, but I talked them out of it. I thought Anwyn might be a bit much at the moment."

He grimaced. "I appreciate it."

"I'm supposed to meet them tomorrow afternoon in Diagon Alley. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone that way." She bent forward and kissed him. "I hate to leave you, but I still don't have a dress for the wedding. After we go shopping, they'll come back with me for a short visit – I hope that's all right?"

"You invited them to go _shopping_ with you?" He had a disbelieving look on his face.

"Well, yes. I wasn't much looking forward to going on my own. And it'll give me a chance to get to know your mother a little better." She dropped her eyes to her hands before looking up at him again. "Do you think she likes me?" she asked hesitantly.

"She told me you were a perfectly nice young woman."

"Hm." Somehow, Hannah was not convinced. "I suppose we'll see. At least Anwyn will be there, too." She felt much more comfortable with Severus's outspoken but kindhearted aunt.

"You may come to regret the invitation. Anwyn has an opinion on everything, and absolutely no hesitation in making that opinion crystal clear to anyone within hearing range."

Hannah grinned. "Well, yes, she might be a little short on tact on occasion, but she…"

"..but she's not the only one in the family with that shortcoming?" Severus finished the sentence with a smirk.

"That's not what I…" Hannah was saved from having to answer when at that moment there was a knock. A moment later, the head of Minerva McGonagall poked through the door. "Poppy said it would be all right if we stopped in for a minute?" she asked. "If you feel up to it, that is?"

"Who is 'we'?" Severus asked with raised eyebrows. Two more heads – those of Flitwick and Lupin – peered around the corner with hopeful smiles.

Severus sighed. "Very well, then. Come in."

While Minerva conjured up some chairs and Remus asked Severus how he was faring, Flitwick came over and pulled Hannah into a firm hug. "How are you, sweetheart?" he whispered in her ear.

"I'm fine," she whispered, hugging him back fiercely.

He squeezed her tightly, and she closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his warm, papery old cheek and soft whiskers against her face.

"How was his night?"

"Hard." She swallowed with difficulty. "But he's better now."

"Pomfrey says he'll be right as rain," he whispered reassuringly.

She nodded with teary eyes. "I know. I just don't want to see him in that much pain ever again."

She let him hold her for a moment longer before straightening back up at the sound of Severus' voice.

"…haven't had a chance to thank you." There was a strained tone to his words as he looked at his colleagues. "Without your help…" He paused. "I am – we are – in your debt..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Minerva said robustly. "You've done so much for us over the years that it would be quite embarrassing for us to try and sort out who owes whom what at this point. I'm just glad I could be of help."

Severus flashed her a quick, genuine smile. "You _were_ quite splendid. When you came out from under the sofa with that rat in your mouth…"

A touch of a color crept into her cheeks, and there was a pleased expression on her face. "Well, yes," she said with a bit of preen in her voice. "I wasn't too bad for an old woman, was I?"

"Old woman?" Flitwick snorted. "What does that make me? Methuselah?"

"I am just sorry about your father, dear," McGonagall said, patting Hannah's hand. "I wish you didn't have to see that."

There was a short, uncomfortable silence when she didn't answer.

"What happened before that, if I may ask?" Hannah finally said with an effort. "I could hear you struggling under the sofa…"

"There were a lot of loose threads hanging down," McGonnagal said primly. "I'm afraid I got tangled."

Remus looked at her and grinned. "You weren't playing with _string_, were you, Minerva?"

"I was _not!_" She turned on him with a pursed-up mouth. "It was a very_ old _sofa. It could have happened to anyone."

With raised eyebrows and matching grins, Remus and Flitwick exchanged glances.

Minerva glared at them. "For that matter, what took _you_ so long to show up, hm?" She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I was expecting you much earlier after I sent Tonks off to get you."

Flitwick shrugged apologetically. "We had to get to the Apparition point first. A 134-year-old wizard with very short legs, and a werewolf two days out of Transformation. I'm afraid neither one of us was going to set any sprint records."

There was so much to talk about. None of those assembled had heard the whole story up to now, and there were a lot of questions and explanations, a lot of back and forth and going down rabbit trails, with Hannah and Severus filling in their parts of the story line and asking the other three about theirs. Once Minerva had finished the tail end of the story – her two hours at Auror Headquarters, going over things she had already gone over (in detail) several time previously – the conversation turned into a round verbal trouncing of the Ministry in general and most of the Auror squad in particular.

It was at that point in the discussion that Hannah noticed that Severus was starting to look too pale and too pinched again, and she graciously thanked everyone for coming, and that it would be lovely to have another visit sometime in the near future.

After she had seen them out, she sat down on the side of his bed again. "Let me do your shoulder again before you lie down for a nap." She slipped the gown down his arm and got out the potion. "They are dears, aren't they?" she said softly. "Are you sorry you'll leave your friends behind when we move?"

She saw different emotions chasing each other across his face. "Not sorry," he finally said. "But I will be glad…." He paused. "I am glad that I will be leaving with some regret now." He looked up at her. "I don't know if I can explain it."

She leaned over and stroked his hair away from his face. "I think I understand." With the exception of Albus Dumbledore, he had thought himself without friends, his presence tolerated only as long as he produced results for the Order and the school. He had expected mainly indifference, or, worse, a chorus of "Good Riddance" when the news of his departure was announced; had expected his absence to leave barely a ripple in anyone else's life. There would be a certain…gladness, she was sure, in finding out that that wasn't the case, that there would be people who would miss him, that he would now be leaving behind some good memories along with all the cold and hurtful ones.

She took his wrist between her hands – it looked much better than it had earlier. "When are you going to tell Dumbledore and your family we are leaving?" she asked as she rubbed more ointment into his skin.

"Soon. Dumbledore will have to have time to find an adequate replacement."

"Who's going to take over as Head of House for Slytherin? Sinistra?"

He nodded. "She's the only Slytherin left on staff – unless by some fluke of fate Dumbledore should hire a Slytherin with more seniority for the Potions master position. She'll do her best for our House."

"I doubt you'll be that easy to replace – "

"Truth be told, I lost a lot of them when my allegiance to Dumbledore became known," he interrupted with a bitter smile. "Many of the old pure-blood families had bound themselves to the Dark Lord's – Voldemort's – cause. They saw the fact that I aided in his defeat as utmost treachery." He shook his head. "Dumbledore thought he was doing me a favor in proclaiming my innocence, at least here at Hogwarts, after the end of the war, but it just assured that I would lose the trust of quite a few of my Slytherins. At least Sinistra will have none of that baggage."

Hannah leaned forward and kissed him, putting her heart into the kiss, wishing again that there was some way she could make things different. Damned in his own House for helping the light side; condemned as a Death Eater by about everyone else in the wizarding world, thanks to her father's manipulations. Merlin, he did not deserve this.

He drew back and took the potion jar from her.

"Here, let me…" Carefully, he smoothed some of the potion over the bruise on her cheek and lip. Hannah closed her eyes and held still, loving the feeling of his fingertips stroking across her face, of the light tingle as the potion was absorbed into the skin. The bruise was fading already – she had high hopes of it being gone completely by their wedding day.

When he put away the Potions jar, she reached for his good hand, watching as his long, pale fingers curled around hers. "Have I ever told you that I love your hands?" she said. "You have such beautiful hands."

He snorted.

"Well, you do," she said firmly. She traced his thin, elegant fingers and the lines on his palm, then slowly ran her hand over his wrist and forearm – and looked up in surprise when he flinched. Now what?

There was an unreadable expression on his face, dark eyes half-hidden behind lowered eyelids.

"Severus? What is it?"

"Does it bother you?" he asked shortly.

"Does _what_ bother me?"

He nodded to where her fingers were resting across what remained of the Dark Mark, usually hidden beneath long sleeves, now visible in faint and faded outlines against his white skin.

She shook her head. "No. It doesn't." Slowly, she rubbed a finger over the Mark, feeling his muscles tighten as if fighting the urge to pull away. "I wish you didn't have to live with it any more – because you hate it – but it doesn't bother me."

"When I first met you…" He paused. "We were sitting on this bluff, and I remember thinking that the smile on your face was nothing but a mirage, that all I would have to do was to show you _this_ and the smile would turn to hatred. Or worse, fear."

"It might have, back then," she said quietly. "I didn't know you very well. But I do hope I would have given you the benefit of the doubt, that I would have listened to your story."

"Would you?" His voice was rough.

"I think I would have." She smiled. "I was already half in love with you."

He snorted again. "Heaven knows why."

"Because you are you." She leaned over, touching the tip of her nose to his. "Because you are salt and pepper and vinegar, and I haven't regretted a moment I ever spent with you." She rubbed her nose against his, nuzzling him gently. "Any more questions?"

He shook his head. "Vinegar?" He gave her a mocking look. "Don't most women prefer _sweet_?"

She shook her head in a gesture of mild impatience. "Maybe. But I prefer _you._"

.-.-.-.

After dinner, Pomfrey decided it was time to get Severus on his feet for the first time – a slow, painful process, but he managed to walk a few steps, leaning heavily on Pomfrey and Hannah. "It'll get better quickly now," the matron said reassuringly. "You'll be surprised." She stayed to settle Severus for the night. "I don't suppose you will be going back to your quarters, will you?" she asked Hannah.

"I'm going to stay with him. – If you don't mind?" She looked at Severus.

He shook his head – no, he didn't mind. He was getting much too used to having her around. It was a good thing the wedding was only three days off.

The matron grinned at him. "Well, since tonight there is no danger of her accidentally jostling you while you are trying to grow some bones…" She pulled out her wand – and Severus' bed grew wider, wide enough to comfortably accommodate another person. "Just remember that I _could_ come in and check on you at any time," she said with a wink. "Well, good night, you two."

As she left, Hannah looked self-consciously at Severus. "Really, I don't mind sleeping in the chair again, if you'd rather…?"

In response, he pulled back the cover and held out his arm. "Come here."

She stripped off her shoes and socks and slipped into bed next to him. He closed his eyes as she settled in by his side – the warm weight of her body as she relaxed against him was peaceful, enjoyable. It could easily have been_ too_ enjoyable – he was in a way glad that some of the pain potions Pomfrey had given him affected other…sensory receptors as well. It would have been a shame to get this close to his wedding night and then spoil it, he thought with a wry smile.

"So," he said as she wriggled her face against his shoulder with a contented sigh, "I meant to ask if I understood right, earlier…"

"What?" she asked sleepily.

"You_ Apparated _back to Hogwarts? With _Tonks_?"

An involuntary shiver ran through her body. "She_ is_ an Auror," she mounted a feeble defense of the young witch.

He smirked. As a Potions student, Nymphadora Tonks had been the bane of his existence – clever and capable enough to pass the class at the NEWT level, but exhibiting a Longbottomesque level of clumsiness that had ensured an intermittent but steady queue of Potions disasters. If he had a Galleon for every time he had had to deal with the consequences of her accidentally dropping a vial into a cauldron… "She's _Tonks,_" he said. For Hannah to Apparate with _her_… "I am beginning to think you must be rather fond of me," he said, the smirk widening.

Hannah scooted her head back a little and looked up at him with eyebrows drawn together in a mock frown. "I did think that fact was rather firmly established by now."

He smiled as he kissed her on the forehead. It was indeed.

"So…" he said quietly, "about your father?" All day long, she had rolled up like a hedgehog every time the topic had come up. And all day, there had been something tightly-wound about her, like she was barely holding herself together. If she needed to borrow his shoulder for a good cry, now was as good a time as any.

As soon as the words were out, he could feel her stiffen in his arms. She lay still for a moment, her eyes closed.

"Just telling you I don't want to talk about it isn't going to work, is it?" she said wearily.

He shook his head. Not this time.

"Does it make me a terrible person? That I am glad that he died?" she finally asked, her voice brittle and thin.

"Why should it?"

"All I could think at the time was that I was glad it was him and not you. I told you I would be sorry if he died…but I'm _not_…maybe some day, but not now…I can't at the moment remember anything… _good _– and I should, shouldn't I? I mean, he did drive the dementor off… He _is_ – was – my father. But I am_ glad_ he died," she said defiantly. "He would have…" She stopped.

"He would have _what_?" he asked carefully. She didn't answer. He waited, not wanting to push her too fast. For a while, he just stroked her face, her shoulders, her back, gently kissing her until he felt her begin to relax against him again.

"They were going to take all my memories of the wizarding world." He almost didn't hear her, she was speaking so quietly. "That seemed the worst part of what they intended for me, you see – that after everything that's happened, after everything you did for me, after loving you like this, I wouldn't remember that you even existed." A tear spilled across her face she looked up at him. "They would have just erased you…"

He pulled her against him, horrified. To remove all those memories would have caused irreparable damage, leaving her helpless, at the developmental level of a child.

"And what he – they – did to you…I couldn't…what Pettigrew did to you…" Her shoulders were shaking now.

"Shh," he murmured against her hair, running his hand over her back. "It's over."

"But you were in so much pain…I wish I could have helped you, and I couldn't…and then the dementor came, and Lord, Severus, when it touched me…" She was quietly weeping, pressing her face against his neck, holding on to him tightly. "And then last night…"

"I know," he murmured. He did know. What he didn't know was what else to do to help her. There had to be _something_…

Helplessly, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, closing his eyes. And suddenly – maybe because of how physically close he was to her, maybe because he now knew her so well – he could feel her, sense her, like some faint echo of Legilimency. He could feel the tight knot he had sensed in her all day slowly loosening, and knew that he was giving her exactly what she needed; nothing else was required of him. And that in spite of the crying, she was happy. How that was possible, he did not know, but the feeling was unmistakable.

Slowly, he let himself relax. He rubbed his face against her hair, inhaling the scent of clean woman, holding her until she had cried herself out, until she lay in his arms, quiet and comfortable. Sometime later, she lifted her face and smiled a small smile at him. "Thank you, love," she said softly. He ran a finger along the line of her jaw and bent down to kiss her, and she laid her hand against his cheek and kissed him back, a leisurely, slow, lingering kind of kiss before settling peaceably against him once more. When he fell asleep a moment later, he could still feel the touch of her fingertips against his skin.

* * *

Any reviews are much appreciated! And thanks for reading! 


	53. Damage Control

Since I am leaving for Germany in the morning and wanted to get this posted, my poor betas didn't get much notice or time – so thank you to Verity Brown and Bellegeste for gamely jumping on the chapter and getting it back to me so quickly. You don't know how much I appreciate you! And many thanks to everyone who reviewed.

I am spending the next two weeks with my family – I haven't seen my Dad, sister, or nephew in close to five years!

On a side note, I hereby official give up trying to predict how many chapters are left. They seem to be multiplying like rabbits at the moment. The good news is that 90 percent of the next chapter is already written, so the wedding finally is a definite go for the chapter after that. Whew. I wanted to get this story finished before going Germany, but my husband's health problems effectively threw a monkey wrench into those plans! Anyway, I'll see you all when I get back!

* * *

Early the next morning, Pomfrey woke them up with a much-too-chirpy greeting and Severus' next round of potions. When Hannah padded off to the bathroom, the matron took the opportunity to restore the bed to its original dimension. "Wouldn't do to have a visitor come in and get ideas now, would it?" she remarked much-too-cheerily as she pulled aside the curtains and let the much-too-bright sunlight in. "Look, what a _bea-uu-tiful _day!" 

Pomfrey, Severus thought sourly, was definitely a morning person.

As soon as she left again, he summoned Gwinny.

"What can Gwinny do for Master Snape?" the elf eagerly asked.

"I need you to go to my quarters and bring me one of my own nightshirts." There would not be another session of attempting to somehow keep the back of his hospital gown closed while trying to walk supported by two women – not if he had anything to do with it.

"Oh, and when you bring breakfast, bring my copy of the _Prophet_, please." He had noticed that Gwinny hadn't delivered his copy of the _Evening Prophet_ last night, but had, in the end, decided it could wait. The last thing Hannah had needed right then was to read whatever cock-and-bull story the Ministry had drummed up to account for her father's death. But now it was time.

The elf was back with his nightshirt just a couple of minutes later. It was a relief to be back in proper clothing.

When Pomfrey returned, she gave him a sideways look, but obviously decided to say nothing about the change in apparel. Which was just as well. There was no reason for him to wear the flimsy garment any more. It really was ridiculous, he thought with a grim smirk, that with all the qualified witches and wizards at Hogwarts no one had thought to equip the blasted things with a self-closing spell. The wizarding world was woefully short on practical sense at times. Maybe he could propose the project to Flitwick, something like that would be right up his alley...

It still took both Pomfrey and Hannah to get him up and moving, but he noticed with satisfaction that his leg would support much more of his weight now before it started to buckle.

"Look at you!" Pomfrey said in a pleased voice. "I think you'll be able to walk with the aid of a cane by this afternoon. Which means you'll be able to return to your quarters. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

As far as Severus was concerned, this was a purely rhetorical question – after years of caring for him, Pomfrey knew that he could never bid the hospital wing farewell quickly enough.

Gwinny arrived with breakfast just a few minutes later. "Good food for _both_ of you this time," she crooned. Hannah's eyes grew huge as the elf laid out the spread on the small table next to his bed again. Toast, marmalade, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, stewed tomatoes, baked beans, grapefruit halves…it was apparent that Gwinny had thrown all caution about 'fragile stomachs' to the wind.

"There. You enjoys!" With a grin on her face, she Disapparated.

"_Gwinny_!" Severus called after her.

With a 'pop' and a wary smile, the elf reappeared. "Yes, Master Snape?"

"I don't see a copy of the paper."

The elf's eyes opened in wide-eyed, innocent surprise and dismay. "Oh sorry, I forgots. Gwinny terrible, cobweb-brained, head-full-of-air elf. So, so sorry. I be back later and brings it to you."

"You will bring it now."

"Anything else Master Snape wants? Would you likes a soft-boiled egg instead, like yesterday?"

"I would like my copy of the_ Prophet_."

"I coulds get some strawberries, first of the season, not too tasty yet, but Master Snape be welcome to them…"

"_The paper, Gwinny_!"

Her ears drooping, the elf finally nodded. "If Master Snape wishes…"

Even so, they were almost finished with breakfast by the time the elf reappeared. _Without _the paper.

"I's so sorry – Gwinny accidentally spill coffee on Master Snape's paper. Can't read it no more. Bad, bad elf. Terrible elf. I tries to get Professor Lupin's, but he already use his to line the bottom of pixie cage. Professor Flitwick folds his into a boat to play with in the bathtub. Very cute. Even have a sail. Gwinny will have to try that some time. Professor McGonagall…"

"You mean to tell me that there is not a single legible copy of the _Prophet_ left in the entire castle?" Snape interrupted her disbelievingly.

Gwinny hung her head, refusing to look at him.

"Gwinny," Severus said in a dangerously calm voice. "I _order_ you to get me a copy of the paper. Right _now."_

"Yes, Master." With a dejected sigh, she Disapparated, and a moment later was back with a – seemingly miraculously spared – copy of the _Prophet. _She handed it to Severus with obvious reluctance before disappearing with the breakfast dishes.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Hannah said in an uneasy voice, sitting down next to him so she could read over his shoulder.

With a grim expression – from Gwinny's behavior, he thought her feeling quite justified – Severus unrolled the paper to the front page.

**Head of Magical Law Enforcement Killed in the Line of Duty**

_A deadly skirmish between Auror forces and a wanted Death Eater near the village of Girmanock on the evening of April 6th resulted in the tragic death of Frank Hannigan, 63, Head of Magical Law Enforcement. The suspected killer, Peter Pettigrew, 40, was arrested on the scene. _

_Pettigrew, a former Death Eater also wanted for the murder of Hogwarts student Cedric Diggory four years ago, apparently used the Killing Curse on Hannigan after the latter came to the rescue of his daughter, Hannah Hannigan. Miss Hannigan had been abducted from her place of residence the previous evening._

"_It's no secret that Frank hated Death Eaters," a source in the Auror Department told the _Daily Prophet_. "He was not about to let Pettigrew harm his only daughter. Without his selfless intervention, Miss Hannigan would not have survived. He was a hero until the end."_

_Harvey Graham, Minister of Magic, added, "This is a sad day for the wizarding world. Frank will be mourned deeply by all who knew him." _

_Miss Hannigan is in seclusion and could not be reached for comment._

_Pettigrew has confessed to the murders and is being held for sentencing. The Wizengamot will convene in open session on Friday, April 9th, at 3:00 pm to decide on the terms of his punishment._

Numerous smaller articles surrounded the lead column – a biography of Frank Hannigan, including his distinguished service record; an interview with Amos Diggory, expressing relief that his son's murderer had finally been apprehended; a photo of the farmhouse where Pettigrew had been arrested; quotes from colleagues and associates bemoaning Hannigan's loss.

Severus put the paper down decisively and picked up his coffee cup again, his mouth pressed into a thin, bitter line. "That's that, then."

Hannah had got up and was pacing angrily in front of the bed. "_That's that?_" She looked at him with incomprehension. "This is completely unfair!"

"Did you expect anything else?" His voice was acidic. "Did you for even a moment believe that the Ministry would be interested in publishing the truth?"

"I don't know what I expected," she said hotly. "But not this."

"Well, you should have," he said sharply. "I am actually pleasantly surprised."

Hannah gaped at him. _"What?_ Severus, they made him a hero. After all he did, they made _the bastard a bloody hero_!" Her hands were opening and closing convulsively at her side.

"If whatever the Ministry comes up with doesn't result in my being hauled off by Aurors and stuck into a Ministry holding cell, I consider it good news."

"_Good news_," she said indignantly, still walking with staccato steps from one end of the bed to the other. "_Right."_ After his previous encounters with the Ministry, he probably honestly thought so. When had they ever treated him fairly?

Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door.

"_Now who?_" Snape muttered irritatedly. "Come!"

"Wotcher, Snape!" Tonks, yesterday's chartreuse coif replaced with a deep-blue, spiky do, stuck her head through the door. "Hi, Hannah!"

"Nymphadora," Snape said waspishly. "I wasn't aware that breakfast time was acceptable visiting hours."

"Sorry 'bout that. But when the Minister says go, I have to go." She made a little half-bow. "Yours truly is your official Ministry delegation, I'm afraid. The powers-that-be decided that I had a better chance than most of getting out of here without getting my head bit off." She looked at him with an uncertain expression. "I hope they're right?"

Snape put down his coffee cup with a clank. "_What now_?"

Tonks looked at him warily. "You _have_ seen the papers, haven't you? I'm supposed to explain."

"Yes," Snape said harshly. "We have seen the papers."

"I have a letter from the Minister," Tonks said in a small voice. "Please don't hex the messenger…"

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Snape said acidly. "I still don't have my _wand_."

"Oh, that…" Tonks hastily pulled something out of the pocket of her trousers. "I have that. Sorry, I almost forgot. Here." She held the wand out to Snape. He took it with a jerky movement, his hand closing tightly around the handle.

There was a pause while Snape just stared at the young Auror, a look of long-suffering on his face.

Tonks peered at him in confusion. "Wha..? Oh, yes…Sorry." She fumbled with her pocket, dropping her own wand as she pulled out a rather crumpled bit of parchment, sealed in blood-red wax with the Ministry's seal. "Here you are." She took a seat on one of the chairs, watching him warily as he opened the letter.

He cracked the seal with one decisive move of a long finger while Hannah sat down next to him on the bed again, an apprehensive look on her face.

_Professor Snape, _

_It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been cleared of all suspicion in the death of Frank Hannigan. Your presence will not be required at any subsequent hearing, and your wand is herewith returned to you. _

_Regarding your injuries caused by Auror personnel, an inquiry led by the Council on Internal Affairs has determined that the Aurors in question felt threatened at the time, and the incident has been ruled justifiable use of force. _

_Even so, the Ministry deeply regrets the unfortunate events of April 6th, and wishes to assure you that appropriate steps have been taken to avoid a recurrence._

_With best wishes for your full recovery, _

_Harvey Graham_

_Minister of Magic_

"Well, isn't that nice." Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm as he folded the letter up, a distasteful expression on his face. "How very sweet of him."

Tonks winced as she looked at him. "I know. It's a piece of self-serving, cover-our-arses crap, isn't it? He let me read it before he sealed it, so I could be 'properly prepared.'— I'm afraid the story they gave the _Prophet _will stand as is. Graham said something along the lines of 'the public interest demanding that faith in the Ministry be retained even in view of Hannigan's abuse of his position.' Or some other such crock. – But at least he does mean the last part of the letter. He's naming Amanda Toothill as the new Head. She's a good sort, really. I hope it's a bit of a consolation that at least things should be looking up in the Auror Department from now on. – Oh, and Davis has been reassigned from the Auror Corps to the Event Security Division of the Watch-Wizard Unit." She suddenly grinned. "Instead of chasing Dark wizards, he'll now be patting down old ladies for contraband bottles of butterbeer during Quidditch tournaments."

Hannah snorted disbelievingly. "Heartbreaking punishment for just about killing a man."

Tonks gave her a quick, pained smile before turning back to Snape. "There'll be no trial. Graham means to finish this as quickly and quietly as possible. They didn't even need Pettigrew to confess to killing Hannigan; they already had him on numerous priors. Between you and me and the doorpost, the Wizengamot meeting is only a formality. They have already decided on the Dementor's Kiss. –Well, that's all I came to tell you," she finished lamely. "Anything else I can answer?"

"Yes," Snape said brusquely. "I would like to know, _Nymphadora_, when Minerva McGonagall's Order of Merlin ceremony will take place. For saving my and Hannah's lives, and for apprehending Pettigrew. I wouldn't want to miss it."

Tonks looked down at her feet, and even her hair color seemed to grow duller. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Believe me, if there was anything I could do…"

"You must just love going to work in the morning," Snape interrupted her in mock solicitude. "To be part of such an upstanding, just, moral, unbiased group of people – it must fill you with such satisfaction…"

At that, Tonks blazed up. "Oh stuff it, Snape. Do you think I like doing this? But I'm the only one from the Order left in the Auror Corps, and _someone _needs to have access to that information. And don't _you, _of all people, have the audacity to tell me who I can or can't associate with if the Order requires it, you…" She paused, then shut her mouth sharply instead of finishing that sentence. For a moment, there was silence as the two glared at each other.

Hannah had put a warning hand on Severus' arm. When the silence continued, she cleared her throat. "Please, do forgive us. Really, we do know none of this is your fault. You've been fantastic. And we haven't even properly thanked you." She smiled a strained smile at the young Auror. "Without your help, neither of us would even _be_ here to gripe about the Ministry. It's just that right now…well, this has all been quite upsetting…" Her voice trailed off.

"It's okay," Tonks said, smiling back crookedly. "I did figure this would all be a bit hard to digest. Don't you worry, I'm not taking it personally." She looked at Snape again. "And really, I _am _sorry."

His expression was still hard, but he acknowledged her words with a short nod.

"There is one more thing…" Hannah said awkwardly.

"Yes?"

"My father…his body…?"

"Oh yes. That." The young Auror gave her another 'I-wish-someone-else-would-have-to-tell-her' look. "There will be a state funeral Sunday evening. They would like you to attend." She shrugged apologetically. "I'm sure they'll come up with a suitable excuse for your absence. – Unless you'd like to go, of course," she added hesitantly.

Hannah shook her head. "No thank you," she said bitterly. "I think not."

"All right, then." Tonks got up with a look of relief. "If that's all, I'll say goodbye."

Hannah had risen from her seat, as well. "Please, don't mind us," she said quietly, as she walked Tonks to the door. "We're both upset, and it wasn't fair to take it out on you. Please, let me thank you again – both of us really appreciate all you've done."

Tonks cast a dubious look back at Snape. "I'll take your word for it." She gave Hannah's arm a quick squeeze and looked at her with a grin. "I can tell you one thing – I'm quite happy for you and all, but you don't know how glad I am that it's _you_ who'll be putting up with him and not me."

.-.-.-.

After Tonks had left, Hannah walked over to the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, looking outside with unfocused eyes. A state funeral. For Frank Hannigan, exemplary father, outstanding citizen, servant of the people. Merlin, what a farce!

She took a deep breath, then another one. As Severus had said – that was that, then. It wasn't as if she could do anything about it. She resolutely turned her thoughts away from the contemplation of wizarding justice (or lack thereof) – time to think of better things. The Minister and his lot could just go and hang themselves, for all she cared. Or jump in a lake. Or go pet a Manticore.

"Hannah?" She turned to see Severus watching her, his eyes hooded.

Walking over, she sat down on the edge of his bed. "Sorry, love. I'm just…angry. This is just all so…" She lifted her hands in a gesture of resignation, then let them drop. "I just keep reminding myself that in three months we'll leave here, you and I, and we'll never have to think about either Minister or Ministry again, for the rest of our lives. Frankly, I can't wait."

He snorted. "That makes two of us."

She smiled at him as she reached for his hand. "The main thing is – it's over. No more questions, no more trials, no more Aurors, no more Wizengamot. We can go out to dinner in a nice restaurant, or take a walk by the lake – once you're well again – without worrying about anyone out to get us. And as far as the _Prophet _– whatever they print in the paper, well, at least_ I_ know who the real heroes of the story are."

He lips curled down in a half-smirk. "Poor Minerva. That may have been the performance of her life – and only a handful of people will ever know what happened."

"I was thinking more about you." There was a light, teasing tone in her voice now. "My knight in shining armour." She reached up and stroked his cheek.

He snorted. "You and your fairy tales."

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it? Do you have _any_ idea what it does to a girl's heart to have you charge to her rescue like that?"

He was definitely smirking now, and she could see the hard lines in his face starting to soften. "And then promptly get hit with a _Petrificus_ and spend most of the rest of the story lying around like a heroic log? If I remember correctly, Minerva did a lot more rescuing than I did."

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Temporary setbacks are allowed. And all's well that ends well, as they say." She winked at him. "Now all that's left is the happily ever after."

He snorted again. "I stopped believing in happily-ever-afters a long time ago."

She lifted her face and kissed him, then, a gentle brush of her lips against his. "Oh, that's all right," she said lightly. "I'll just have to do the believing for both of us, won't I?"

.-.-.-.

The rest of the morning went by quickly and quietly. Hannah disappeared for a while to shower and to change her clothes, and he used the time to take a nap. He still tired much too easily. But thanks to Pomfrey's potions, he wasn't in pain unless he tried to move, and he knew that getting his energy back was only a matter of time and rest – however much he wished he could speed up the process.

When she returned, she brought a book – he had decided a while ago that it really was quite pleasant to have her read aloud – and he just closed his eyes and relaxed, listening to the sound of her voice. The only interruption was Madam Pomfrey, who came in periodically and made him get out of bed and exercise his leg. Each time, it became easier to get up and move around.

Some time after lunch Pomfrey arrived carrying his socks, boots, cloak, and a cane.

"It's not that I don't like you," she said with a grin, "but I think we're both ready for you to get out of here."

While Hannah collected his robes and other belongings, Pomfrey laced on his boots, then handed him the cane. "Well, let's give it a try," she said encouragingly.

Bracing himself, he slowly levered himself into a standing position, holding on to the bed frame and leaning heavily on the cane. For a moment, he closed his eyes, fighting dizziness, then straightened up triumphantly. One step, then another. He was walking. By himself.

About time.

.-.-.-.

When they stepped out onto the hearth in his quarters a short time later, he let out a slow breath. As much as he hated to admit it, even the short walk to the hospital wing Floo had exhausted him. But it felt good to be back in his own surroundings.

He followed Hannah into the bedroom and gingerly lowered himself to the side of the bed. Before he could even ask for help, Hannah had already matter-of-factly knelt down and begun to unlace his boot. It would be another day or so until he could manage to bend over far enough to do that for himself, he thought with vexation.

He looked on with embarrassment and a sense of déjà vu as she pulled off his boot and sock, then rubbed his foot with her hands. "You have very nice feet," she said judiciously. Luckily she did not seem to expect a reply. She ran her hands a little higher up, over his ankle, stopping as her fingers encountered the thick scars that crossed his lower right calf. "Where did you get these?" she asked.

"Fluffy," he said with a smirk

She looked up at him, a question mark on her face as she took off the other boot. "_Fluffy_?"

"One of Hagrid's pets. A Cerberus, actually. It's a long story. It bit me."

"You got bit by a Cerberus named _Fluffy_?" There was a twinkle in her eyes, and she grinned.

"As I said, it's a long story," he said dryly.

Laughing, she shook her head. "Leave it to Hagrid." She looked up at him with a smile as she folded up his socks and put them over the top of his boots. "There's still so much about you I don't know," she said wistfully. "So many stories I haven't heard."

"There are a lot of stories you won't _want_ to hear." There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

For a moment, she was quiet. When she raised her head again, her face was serious. "Father told me about Daphne Greengrass," she said carefully as she got up and took his cloak from him.

_Daphne Greengrass._

One of his worst memories. Having to kill one of his own, one of his Slytherins. And Hannah's father had had the telling of that story – he could only imagine what it had sounded like coming from Hannigan's mouth. Not that the bare facts were not damning enough.

"I don't know what he told you, exactly," he said, his voice strained. "But I was there for the discussion before they brought her out. What they had planned for her…she would have …her death would have been slow – slow, long, and hard. I did the best for her that I could. There was no possible way to save her."

"That's what I thought," she said as she hung his cloak on the hook by the wardrobe. "I told him that is what must have happened." She turned around when there was no answer. "Severus?"

He found himself without words for a moment. It was still almost unbelievable to him that there was now this person whose default assumption was that he must have had good reason to do what he did, no matter how horrible the evidence.

When he still didn't say anything, she knelt back down in front of him and took his hands into hers. "I wanted to let you know that I think I made a mistake," she said quietly. "Back when I told you that I didn't need to know the details of the things you had to do as a Death Eater. I think you _do_ need to tell me, and that I do need to hear. I'm afraid it may have sounded like I didn't _want_ to hear. But there are things…memories that you…that you shouldn't have to carry by yourself…" She rested her chin briefly on top of their clasped hands. "So please, keep that in mind?"

He nodded. "I will." His voice was barely a whisper.

She reached up and put her hand against his face, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. "I love you."

He nodded as their eyes met, feeling his insides twist in a way that hurt and felt good at the same time. He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard. What a strange woman she was…but Merlin, he was grateful.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze fell on the clock on the bookcase behind her. "What time were you supposed to meet my mother?" he asked, his voice still rough.

She turned towards the clock, and her eyes widened. "Oh no! I didn't realize…I've got to go." She looked up at him, and he could see her being torn between two things. "But if you need me to stay…I'm sure they'd understand…this is important…."

He touched her face lightly. "It's all right. You go."

"You're sure?"

"Quite."

She got up, suddenly in a hurry. "Heavens, I've got to run. They're meeting me in front of Madam Malkin's at three." She pulled the covers up over him as he leaned back into the pillows, and kissed him quickly. "I'll see you later, then?"

She rushed out of the door, and as he looked after her, thoughts swirling inside his head like leaves in the wind, one thing crystallized. If she still wished to be Bound to him, he would have no further objections. The ceremony would just confirm something that had slowly taken place over the last few months already, something that had only been cemented more firmly into place these last few days. For all intents and purposes, she had already bound herself to him. It only seemed fair to return the favor.

* * *

Reviews make me very, very happy... ;-) 


	54. Fine Feathers

Sorry about the long delay – I went to Germany, my son graduated, we had two solid weeks of company, said son then got his wisdom teeth out, my lap-top crashed, taking this chapter with it, and my dear, wonderful, amazing husband spent hours and hours trying to resuscitate it. He finally installed Linux as a shell to override the malfunctioning Windows boot sequence and managed to get my files off before that hard-drive bit the dust for good (may it rest in peace.)

So I decided to cut this chapter in half and post the part that is finished, since I found some problems with the rest, and it's already been too long since the last update. Hope you enjoy! Many thanks to everyone that reviewed, and to Verity Brown, Bellegeste, and lalaluu, the best betas ever! And an extra-special thanks to talloaks, who provided her professional expertise in the dress department (it helps to have friends in the right places!)

* * *

Hannah, out of breath and pink-cheeked, arrived at the front door of Madam Malkin's with only a minute or two to spare. Anwyn and Saeran were already waiting for her. 

"I hope I'm not late?" she said anxiously – this was, after all, the first time that she had been alone with Severus' relatives.

"Punctual as can be," Anwyn said with a grin as Saeran greeted her future daughter-in-law with a handshake and a small, tense smile.

"So how_ is_ Severus?"

"Back in his own quarters and doing much better."

"I'm so glad to hear that." The relief was evident on Saeran's face. "Is he still in a lot of pain?"

Hannah shook her head. "Madam Pomfrey has him on a strict potion regimen. His leg's still stiff and gives him some trouble when he tries to walk, but other than that, he is doing well." She smiled. "He's bound and determined to make it to the altar under his own power on Saturday."

Anwyn laughed. "Well, then we'd better go and find you a dress. Shall we?" She opened the door with a flourish.

"Thank you for coming with me," Hannah said shyly as she stepped through. "I really wanted someone else's opinion."

"Oh, we're glad you asked," Anwyn said heartily. "I have no children, and you took Saeran's only offspring, so it's not like we're going to have the chance to be involved in a wedding otherwise, is it now?"

She turned as the shop girl – a blonde young witch with too-red lipstick coloring her solicitous smile – approached them. "Madam Malkin is not in?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"I'm afraid not," the young witch said apologetically. "It's her day off. But if I can help you…?"

"We're looking for a wedding grown for this young lady here," Anwyn said, pushing Hannah in front of her.

"If you will follow me?" The saleswitch gestured towards the back of the store. "We have a good selection of robes and gowns off the rack, or you can custom order with a minimum of two weeks' notice…"

"It's a bit late for that," Anwyn said dryly. "The wedding is the day after tomorrow."

The saleswitch looked scandalized. "_Well."_ She cast the three women a slightly forced smile. "In that case, we'd better find a dress that will not require too many alterations." She cleared her throat and gestured towards a rack against the back wall. "Now, traditional or modern style?"

"Traditional," three voices answered in unison. Hannah cast a quick look at Saeran and Anwyn – good thing she had no interest in a modern, Muggle-style gown, or she would have been in deep trouble, she supposed. Over the last century, white wedding dresses had caught on among half-blood and Muggle-born witches, but they were frowned upon in the pureblood world as a further sign of contamination by Muggle culture. But she preferred the rich colors worn by traditional brides, anyway.

"Hm." The saleswitch pulled out her wand and ran it over Hannah, collecting measurements. Then, she put a finger to her lips and regarded the rack with a furrowed brow. "How about this one?" She pulled out a dark raspberry chiffon concoction covered in lace and ruffles.

"I think we would prefer something that looks less like my Great-Aunt Millie's parlor curtains," Anwyn said cheerfully.

Hannah concurred wholeheartedly.

The blonde witch pulled out another one – baby-blue satin with puffed sleeves.

Anwyn eyed the frock with disdain. "Not her color at all. Have you bothered actually_ looking_ at her?"

Lips starting to thin, the young witch pulled out another one – a stiff, dark blue moiré with a high waistline and leg-of-mutton sleeves.

Anwyn's lips were starting to thin, too. "She wouldn't be wearing that dress, the dress would be wearing_ her_. We need something simple. Simple and classic. Come now, you must have something suitable?"

The next dress was a hunter green silk – "Too severe." A clingy, bias-cut burgundy velvet dress with a plunging décolleté – "Too brothel, don't you think?"

Hannah bit her tongue to not laugh out loud. The saleswitch, on the other hand, did not look amused in the least.

Finally, they had narrowed the dresses down to three possibilities.

"Well, I suppose you'd better try them on," Anwyn said with a sigh. "Even though I'm starting to think we might have to go down the street and look at Siren Song Witchwear instead."

"They went out of business months ago," the saleswitch said waspishly. "I'm afraid we are now the _only_ purveyors of fine witches' wear in Diagon Alley."

Hannah gave the by now quite harassed-looking young woman an apologetic smile as she followed her into the dressing room. True, the gowns had been atrocious, but then the store's selection was really not the poor saleswitch's fault.

A few minutes later, Hannah stepped back out wearing the first of the dresses – a pale yellow, high-waisted Regency-style gown. "Well?"

The expression on the two witches' faces was not encouraging.

"Hm…" Saeran answered hesitantly.

"It would work, I think," Anwyn said with a grin, "if you want people to think that there is a very, _very _good reason why you and Severus are getting married in such a hurry."

When she modeled the next gown – a dark-plum georgette, cut close to the body – Anwyn looked at her apologetically. "It's not a bad dress, but forgive me, dear – you would need some actual curves to carry that one off."

With a sigh, Hannah retreated to the fitting room. Anwyn was right, of course, but that hadn't taken the sting out of the comment entirely.

The last dress. Really the one she had liked the most, at first sight. Lifting her arms slightly, she held still as the saleswitch helped her into the dress and then laced the back of the fitted bodice. She looked into the mirror – the mercifully unenchanted, quiet, unopinionated mirror – and drew in her breath. Now _this_…

The gown was reminiscent of a Tudor era dress, a soft willow green with golden undertones as the fabric caught the light. It was lovely in its simplicity. The bodice accentuated her waist, flattering her figure. The sleeves, tight in the upper arm, flared out from the elbow, revealing delicate silk under-sleeves.

The skirts were deceptively simple, but Hannah had a fair idea of how much skill had gone into the clever pleating. Where the fronts of the skirt were pleated back, a cream underskirt peeked out, delicately embroidered with delphiniums and foxglove blossoms. Hannah touched the fabric carefully, rubbing it between her fingers. She had never owned anything this beautiful.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the dressing room. _Please let them like it…_

The nervous half-smile on Saeran's face turned warm and genuine. "_Beautiful_. This really suits you well." Hannah smiled back at her gratefully, then turned to Anwyn for her verdict.

Severus' aunt critically eyed the gown. "Not bad…turn around." Slowly, the grim expression softened into a smile. "I think, my dear," she said as she walked over to Hannah and planted a kiss on her cheek, "we found ourselves a keeper. Do _you_ like it?"

"Very much." Hannah ran a hand over the smooth fabric. Surprisingly enough, the dress was within the amount she had allotted – something not unimportant; most of the meager contents of their Gringotts vaults had been budgeted for establishing their home in Canada.

Anwyn turned to the saleswitch. "It'll need a bit of taking up at the hem, I think? How long will that take?"

"I can have it finished by tomorrow." They could hear the relief in her voice.

Anwyn nodded and turned to Hannah. "Will that be satisfactory?"

"Quite." She cast one last look at herself in the mirror as she walked back into the dressing room and smiled. Yes. Definitely.

When the saleswitch had finished marking the dress for the alterations and Hannah was back in her street clothes, Anwyn hooked one arm around Hannah and the other around Saeran. "Let's celebrate," she said cheerfully. "A round of ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, my treat. I'm in the mood for that delicious snozzleberry sorbet they make this time of year…."

A short time later, the three women were seated around one of the round tables in the ice-cream parlor. They had just ordered when Anwyn theatrically slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh dear, I _completely_ forgot. I was supposed to pick up an order at Flourish and Blotts before five, and it's almost time. If you will excuse me – " She stood up in a hurry. "Oh, and tell the waitress to delay bringing out the order until I get back, will you?" she called back over her shoulder, already half way to the door.

Hannah looked at Anwyn's retreating back suspiciously. There had been a slightly studied tone to her voice...

"I asked Anwyn to leave us alone for a moment," the nervous voice of Saeran Snape confirmed her suspicions. "I hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all." Her voice sounded stiff even to her. Saeran's demeanor throughout the day had made obvious exactly how uncomfortable the witch was with her. And the fact that she had asked Anwyn to leave seemed to indicate that whatever was coming would not be exactly pleasant to hear. Of course, Hannah supposed that a Squib for a daughter-in-law must be a hard pill to swallow, but – _two days before the wedding_?

"I thought we needed to talk…"

_Go ahead then,_ Hannah thought bitterly as she gave a short nod. It wasn't as if there was a polite way of _not_ listening to her at this point. Saeran had set her up nicely.

The witch's next words made her look up sharply.

"I know you must…dislike me." Saeran's voice sounded tense, and Hannah could see her hands clench together tightly. "But I thought that before the wedding, I'd at least…"

"D_islike_ you?" Hannah interrupted her dumbly.

Saeran looked down at her hands, fighting tears. "You must blame me…if I were you, I would be angry…" Her voice was a near whisper.

"_Angry_?" Hannah said, completely taken aback. "You were under the Imperius; you aren't responsible for what…"

"Not that," Saeran interrupted, still not looking at her. "He must have told you…about when he was a boy…the things that…that Augustus…"

_Oh._ "He did," Hannah said quietly.

"Please…I know that I was a terrible mother. I just want you to know that I regret…that I wish…" She stopped and swallowed hard. "I _am_ sorry. And I have told Severus so – not that that makes it any better." She finally looked up at Hannah, her eyes pleading. "I know you must blame me for not protecting him. I blame myself. I wish I had…" She stopped again. "I can't expect you to forgive me, but I do so wish…" Her voice trailed off.

Reaching across the table, Hannah put her hand over Saeran's, still clenched together so tightly the knuckles were showing white. "I can't say that I haven't been angry…" she said carefully. "It hurts to think of what has been done to him."

He had told her about his childhood, bits and pieces, here and there. Enough to make Hannah fervently hope that Augustus Snape was roasting in hell for what he had done to his son. Severus had needed a protector, and again and again – at school and at home – the adults in his life had failed him, hurt upon hurt, a new wound before the previous one had had time to heal. Just thinking about it made her eyes sting. His life might have fallen into such different lines if it hadn't been for the pain and abuse his father had doled out so freely or the relentless bullying that had been his life at Hogwarts.

But once she had seen Saeran – frail, timid, abused herself, in constant fear throughout her married life – she had felt pity more than anger.

She hesitated, feeling her way through the words, trying to phrase them the right way. Yes, she had felt unkindly towards Saeran at first. But then there had been the rest of the story. Severus had told her about how his mother used to read to him when he was little, how she had taken him for walks in the country, away from the oppressive atmosphere of the house, how she would come and comfort him behind his father's back, knowing how much it would have angered Augustus had he found out.

"You were the only one who _did_ love him, for the longest time. I don't know what he would be like if he hadn't had you. The fact that he is capable of caring about me now – I think I owe that to you. And I thank you for that." She smiled at her, her eyes tearing up. "So, no, I don't dislike you. Not at all."

Saeran blew her nose into her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "Thank you," she said carefully, with a quavering smile. "I know I don't deserve it, but…." She slowly let out a breath. "I'm so glad we had this talk…"

"So am I." Hannah smiled back at her, then swallowed and braced herself. Might as well get everything out into the open. "To tell you the truth, I thought that _you_ didn't approve of _me_… being a Squib and all…most pure-bloods would be appalled…"

With a wry smile, Saeran shook her head. "We made a fine mess of things, didn't we? Frankly, I'd given up hope that Severus would ever make a match, and then at Easter…" She smiled. "No, I'm really quite pleased with the way – "

"Well, are you two all sorted out?" Anwyn's hearty voice butted into the conversation. The witch looked critically from one pair of red-rimmed eyes to the next, then grinned. "Good, good," she said, satisfaction in her voice. "About time. I've been getting a bit tired of the two of you traipsing around each other as if on egg-shells. So – can we eat now?"

* * *

Had to put in a tip of the hat to Willy Wonka in this chapter... 

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!


	55. Preparations

Since it's been so long – I am so sorry! – I thought I would give a quick recap of what happened last in the story:

Hannah and Severus got engaged on Easter Sunday, with the wedding set for the following Saturday. Severus also told Hannah that he has been hired to conduct research at a potions laboratory in Canada. While Dumbledore was away at an international conference, Hannah was abducted, and Severus was captured in an attempt to free her. McGonagall, Lupin, and Flitwick risked their lives to come to their rescue, but couldn't prevent Severus being injured by a team of Aurors. The Ministry decided to put an unwelcome publicity spin on what happened and twist what is reported in the _Daily Prophet, _but Snape was at last freed of all charges.

Last we saw them, Snape was recovering in his quarters, and Hannah had gone out to Diagon Alley to go wedding dress shopping with Severus' mother and aunt. Afterwards, they were to return to Hogwarts with Hannah to visit Severus.

As always, many thanks to lalaluu, Verity Brown and Bellegeste for fixing my mistakes and being betas extraordinaire!

* * *

The next morning, Severus woke up cross and tired. His mother and Anwyn had stayed much too long after accompanying Hannah back to Hogwarts. Yet again, he had had to answer a half a million questions about their adventures over the last few days, from Hannah's abduction to Minerva's rescue operation and his subsequent injury. He had tried to gloss over the details, but Anwyn wasn't having any of it. 

Merlin, the woman could talk the skin off a snake! Once her curiosity had been satisfied in regards to all that the _Prophet _had neglected to report, talk had turned to the wedding. Anwyn had taken it upon herself to regale them with endless stories of clan weddings dating back several generations – how the great-great-grandparents Jones had cut into their wedding cake, only to find that a jealous former suitor had somehow replaced the filling with live toads; how great-aunt Claudia on the Snape side had decided to bring her pet Jarvey to the chapel, which had then proceeded to insult the groom, the parson, and virtually all of the guests in turn; how cousin Bartholomew had been so nervous he hadn't been able to remember the name of his bride when it was time for the vows; how second cousin Georgette's dress had spontaneously combusted in the middle of the reception….

Anwyn had paused only when Gwinny appeared with dinner, and then only for as long as it took to chew the next bite.

Hannah had listened with obvious enjoyment – Anwyn was a good storyteller; he had to give her that – but he had wished the old biddy would stop.

He just wanted to get the blasted wedding over with. The thought of having to stand up and promise to "love, honor, and cherish" in front of a crowd of staring people filled him with profound unease. And he was tired of wedding talk, wedding shopping, wedding stories, and wedding preparations; he just wanted to get married and be done. How some wizards managed to put up with months of this, he did not know.

When later that night Hannah had left to walk his relatives to the main gate and then return to her quarters, he had gone to sleep with a feeling of profound dissatisfaction, in a bed that all of a sudden seemed much too large for one person.

His present mood wasn't improved by the fact that he still couldn't manage more than a few yards without the cane – his leg still buckled too easily without the support, as he had found out when he had tried to make it into the sitting room by himself.

Nor did it help that Gwinny had, right at that moment, appeared with his breakfast, just in time to see him sway and almost fall, which had led to a torrent of house-elf fussing that had stretched his already thin patience to its limits. Or that the little creature, who only months ago would have slunk off near tears and with drooping ears at his sharp words, now took his bad humor in her stride, simply lifting those bulbous eyes of hers to him with an understanding smile and muttering "Master Snape be missing Miss Hannah, poor Master Snape" before taking herself off and leaving him to his toast and marmalade.

Ten minutes later, he had barely settled himself in front of the fireplace with his cup of coffee and his morning copy of the _Prophet_ when there was a knock on the door. "Enter," he called out impatiently.

The door opened, and Hannah's face peered through. "A little birdie told me you might want some company."

"Did the birdie have bat-ears and a tendency to stick her nose where it's not wanted?" he grumbled. _Meddlesome elf._

Hannah laughed. "Got it in one." She walked over to kiss him. "I've missed you."

"Have you, now?" he said gruffly as he returned her embrace, briefly burying his face against her hair, still damp from the shower. She smelled nice.

"Desperately," she answered, a smile in her voice. "So, how are you this morning?"

"Getting there," he said shortly as he folded up the paper and set it aside. The _Prophet_ could wait.

Instead of sitting down in the other chair, she settled down on the floor next to him, leaning against the armrest of his chair. "I wish you could come with me today…"

So did he. "When are you leaving?"

She had reached for his hand, absentmindedly weaving her fingers through his. "Not for a while. I'm supposed to pick up my dress any time after two. And _Bling & Bobble's_ promised to have your ring ready this afternoon, too. They'd _better_."

He had at first thought he would need to do without a ring. With all the complications since their engagement, there simply hadn't been time to go ring shopping. It would not have been the end of the world – they had already decided that Hannah's engagement ring would double as a wedding band, and a ring for the groom, though customary, was entirely optional – but Hannah had been crestfallen.

" _I…I guess I like the idea of you wearing my ring," she had said. "Something that marks you as…well, taken, I suppose." _

_He had snorted at that. "You've had very little competition so far. I don't think you have to worry about…"_

"_That's completely beside the point," she had interrupted him impatiently. "It's just that…oh, never mind." _

Quietly, to himself, he had to admit that he liked the idea that she wanted to lay visible claim on him. It was quite…flattering. So he had finally told her to pick out something, a simple band, yellow gold, not too thin, not too heavy. Hannah had placed the order yesterday. And today the ring, engraved on the inside with her name and the date of the ceremony, would be ready for collection.

He nodded. "Good. Anything else?"

"I made an appointment at _Shear Magic_." She grinned at his alarmed face. "Oh, don't worry, I'm only getting a trim. It's not like I'll come out of there looking like Tonks…."

Right then, Gwinny popped into view again. "I's sorry to interrupt, but if Master Snape don't mind, when woulds be a good time to go over the wedding menu?" She picked up the tray with the remains of breakfast.

"The _wedding menu_?" Severus echoed, his eyebrows drawing together.

Gwinny set the tray down again, apparently taking that as an invitation to speak. "So I's be thinking we start off with a nice rabbit-and-wild-mushroom terrine," she began with enthusiasm, ticking off the courses on her fingers. "Then we haves bouillon – nice and light, lots more food still to come, after all. Clean the palate. Then lamb roast – or woulds Master Snape prefer roast beef? And mashed potatoes, with lots of butter, and Yorkshire pudding and vegetables. Next, pears poached in red wine – so tasty! – with ice cream. Vanilla. And then cheeses, lots of cheeses. I founds this lovely bit of Wensleydale…"

Severus had listened in stunned silence.

"I thought the plan was for a simple cake reception?" he asked, ominously quiet.

Gwinny beamed at him enthusiastically. "Oh no! We elves have planned a dinner celebration, a very nice one. Makes the day extra special for Master Snape and Miss Hannah."

"I think not." His voice was slowly rising. "It's quite unnecessary. I…"

"Oh, not to worry, Master Snape, it be a present from us elves," Gwinny interrupted, lifting luminous eyes to him. "We elves _knows_ what Master Potions master did to save Harry Potter. And we knows what would have happen if Master Snape _didn't_ save Harry Potter. We be grateful. Very, very grateful. We mights be having to serve some terrible Dark wizard now, if there hadn't been Master Snape." She shuddered slightly, then brightened. "And this _do_ be the first Hogwarts wedding in a long, long time." She looked at him calculatingly. "We just have roast lamb and roast beef _both_. That way peoples can choose." With a satisfied nod, she picked up her tray and Disapparated.

In consternation, he stared at the spot where the house-elf had just disappeared. How, he wondered, did one argue against_ that_? When he looked down at Hannah, there was an odd expression on her face – a mix of suppressed smile and suppressed tears.

"_What_?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just feeling inordinately proud of you; that's all," she said lightly, lifting his hand to her mouth and kissing it.

He snorted dismissively. "What about the dinner?"

"I think it's rather dear of them to want to do that for you…"

He had to admit that he was inclined to agree. As annoying as the elf could be, he found that he had been…touched by Gwinny's little speech. And she seemed so pleased with her idea…

"I suppose it is roast beef and lamb then," he said resignedly.

"And the Wensleydale," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"And the Wensleydale," he agreed with a sigh.

.-.-.-.-

When Hannah left for her final shopping expedition some time after lunch, he got up and made his way to his desk – there were still a few essays he needed to mark before term started again on Monday. Thankfully he had completed most of his marking during the first week of Easter break, so all the excitement of the last few days hadn't put him too far behind in his duties.

When, with a flourish of red ink, he had marked an 'A' on the last parchment, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He hadn't slept well the previous night. Pomfrey was weaning him off the potions – most of the injuries had healed well by now; all that remained was the stiffness in his leg and a lingering malaise that was the combined result of the concussion and prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. All in all, not bad, but it hadn't made for a restful night.

He almost never napped, but today it sounded like quite a good idea.

After raising the wards, he made his way back to the bedroom, and for two hours was dead to the world.

When he woke up, he did his stretching exercises as prescribed by Pomfrey, then got up and walked back into the living room. His leg seemed to cooperate better…

Carefully, he leaned the cane against the fireplace and took a tentative step. _Yes. Much better. _Another one. Slowly, he made his way across the sitting room and back. There was still a noticeable limp, but then the wedding was still almost twenty-four hours away…

A knock on the door made him look up.

"Just look at you!" Hannah exclaimed a moment later, her eyes flying to the cane and then back to him. "You're walking!"

"I told you I'd be well in time for our wedding," he grumbled, but he couldn't quite keep the satisfaction out of his voice. "Your dress?"

"The final fitting went perfectly. Everything's as ready as it's going to be."

He nodded. "Have you got the ring?"

"I do." She took a small box out of her bag, carefully lifted the ring from its nest of green satin, and held it out to him. "What do you think?" There was an anxious note in her voice.

"It's fine." The ring was exactly what he had requested.

"You should try it on and make sure that it fits."

He took the ring from her and, after hesitating a second, pushed it onto the ring finger of his left hand. There was slight resistance as it slid over the knuckle, before it slipped easily into place, a perfect fit. For a moment, neither of them moved, both of them staring at the glint of gold on his finger, and then Hannah reached out, taking his hand in both of hers, her thumbs running over the slim golden band.

When he raised his eyes, he saw that she was crying, tears rolling quietly down her cheeks. When he reached for her, she moved readily into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. "It's really happening, isn't it?" he heard her muffled voice as she buried her face against his chest. "We really are getting married?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "We are." He had never put much stock in Trelawney's brand of magical quackery, but right at that moment, he Knew that he was telling the truth. As he held her tightly, closing his eyes, his face resting against her hair, he finally let himself believe that fate would not this time interfere at the last second. It really was going to happen. He really was getting married tomorrow. After everything that had gone wrong in his life, something would finally go right.

.-.-.-

During dinner – taken in Severus' quarters, with both of them in unspoken agreement that even if Severus was now theoretically well enough to be able to make it up to the Great Hall, neither of them had any desire to join their colleagues and the students for dinner on the eve of their wedding – a note had arrived, short and to the point.

_Dear Severus, _

_I shall expect you and Hannah in my office at eight. We'll talk then. _

_Albus Dumbledore_

So promptly at eight, they stepped out of the Floo into the round office on top of the headmaster's tower, brushing ashes off their clothing.

As they arrived, Dumbledore stood up from where he had been sitting behind his desk and came towards them with arms wide open. "Severus!" He grasped him firmly by the upper arms and gave him a gentle shake. "I hear I got rather close to losing my Potions master while I was gone. Minerva gave me quite an earful. You really should have let me know."

Severus shrugged. He had thought about it, but at first, there had been nothing the headmaster could have done to help. And after that, things had moved so quickly there simply hadn't been time. International wizarding communications still weren't anywhere near instantaneous. Then, later, when he had been laid up in the infirmary, Minerva had wanted to send a message, but he had stopped her – no need to worry the old man after the fact. "There is nothing you could have done."

"Still – once again I feel as if I should be apologizing to you on behalf of the entire wizarding world. The way you have been treated…"

"…Is over and done," he said with a dismissive gesture. "And as you can see, all has ended well enough."

"That doesn't make what has been done to you excusable or acceptable." There was a glint of steel in Dumbledore's voice now. "I shall have to have a heart to heart talk with dear Harvey quite soon…"

It might actually do some good, Severus thought, now that Frank Hannigan was no longer keeping the Minister under his thumb. He might be more willing to listen…

Dumbledore had placed a hand on Hannah's shoulder and given it a light squeeze. "And you, Hannah – a rough few days for both of you, I am told. I _am _sorry." He motioned them towards the front of his desk, where the usual plump, chintzy armchairs had been replaced by a plump, chintzy sofa. "Do sit down."

Severus was aware of the white-haired wizard's eyes on him as he limped over to the sofa and stiffly sat down.

"How is your leg, Severus?" There was evident concern in Dumbledore's voice.

"Improving," he said shortly as Hannah sat down next to him. "I trust the conference went well? I would like to apologize again for keeping you from your duties."

The corners of Dumbledore's blue eyes crinkled. "Nonsense. Your wedding was the perfect excuse to leave the conference early. I must confess I wasn't at all sorry to miss Yngve Olafson's no doubt riveting report on the Norwegians' research into using trained lemmings in Magical Law Enforcement."

Severus snorted. As far as he was concerned, the Ministry had been using trained lemmings in Magical Law Enforcement for years.

Dumbledore had opened a folder on the desk. "Now, are there to be any bridesmaids or groomsmen?" He looked questioningly at them.

"No," Hannah answered. "Filius and Professor McGonagall will be our witnesses. That's all."

Dumbledore nodded. "I have a meeting with them in the morning. I've already checked the Room of Requirement, and it has performed beyond expectation. We could go there now, but we shouldn't put more strain on your leg than is necessary. The lay-out is quite simple – a central aisle leading up to the altar, pews on each side." He turned towards Hannah. "I would encourage you to be a fashionable ten minutes late, so that any stragglers among the guests are already seated."

Hannah smiled. "I can do that."

"You will meet Hannah at the door of the chapel," he said, turning to Severus, "and then walk down the aisle with her. She will be on your left." He pulled two pieces of parchment out of the folder and handed one to Severus and one to Hannah. "Here you have the order of ceremony. It follows the traditional format you have requested. If you could take a look and tell me if all is as you wish it?"

Severus spoke up in a casual voice after perusing the parchment in front of him for a minute. "It appears to be quite satisfactory. There is just one small detail – I don't see the words to the Binding ceremony on here…" Out of the corner of his eye he cast a look at Hannah. She had gone very still.

Albus raised a questioning eyebrow. "So you have decided to go through with the Binding then, after all?"

He gave a short nod. " I …"

Severus didn't get any further as Hannah turned to him with an inarticulate sound and threw her arms around him. He held her for a moment, as she clung to him tightly, before gently disentangling himself. Taking her face in his hands, he wiped the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. "Unless you've changed your mind?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I haven't," she said, half laughing and half crying. She put her hand against the side of his face, with an expression in her eyes that made him swallow away a sudden lump in his throat. "Thank you, dearest."

He nodded, becoming conscious again of the old wizard watching them with an amused smile.

"I am glad to hear you have reached an agreement." Albus' eyes twinkled more than ever as he leaned forward and tapped first his parchment, then hers with his wand. The words to the Binding ceremony appeared at the bottom of the document. "Very well, then. Now, as far as the vows…"

.-.-.-.

A while later, when the final details of the ceremony had been settled and they had stood up to leave, Dumbledore turned to Hannah. "If you don't mind, I'd like a private word with Severus? I'll only take a moment."

"Of course." She laid her hand on Severus' upper arm. "See you in my quarters?"

He nodded, and then warily, not knowing what to expect, took a seat again as the fireplace erupted in green flames at Hannah's departure. What did the old man want now?

Dumbledore sat silently for a moment, apparently lost in thought, and then squared his shoulders as he opened a drawer in his desk.

"I have something for you…" he said, and there was a note in his voice that made Severus look up sharply. He pulled out a small square box, wrapped in violet paper with small orange polka dots and tied with a large bow. Getting up, he walked around the desk and lowered his thin, tall frame onto the sofa. "I wanted to be the first to give you a wedding present." He pushed the box into his Potions master's hands. "Go on, open it."

After a questioning look at the old wizard, Severus hesitantly tore off the paper. Inside was a worn leather case, the lid attached by brass hinges. He cast another quick look at Dumbledore – the old wizard was watching him intently. Slowly, not knowing what to expect, he raised the lid.

It was a pocket watch. The cover of what appeared to be a solid gold hunter case showed a finely worked view of Hogwarts as seen from the lake, every tower, parapet, and turret crafted in intricate detail.

"It is beautiful," he murmured, unsure of what to say, as he lifted it out of the box. It felt good in his hand, solid, heavy, substantial.

"My wife gave it to me the night before we were married, and I have carried it ever since," Dumbledore said, his voice growing quiet. "So tonight seemed like a good time to pass it on. – She died during the Grindelwald war, you know."

Severus nodded, not sure what to say. He had heard rumors that the headmaster had once been married, a long time ago, but he had never once brought up that fact in all the years he had known him.

The old wizard's face appeared softer, somehow younger as he stretched out a long crooked finger and ran it carefully around the rim of the case. "Your Hannah – at times she reminds me a bit of my Margaret. We had more than fifty wonderful years together, you see, and it is my sincerest wish that this will bring you the best of luck and much happiness."

Severus looked down at the watch in his hand, his chest feeling painfully tight. "You should not…" he said, fumbling for words. "I cannot accept…"

"Yes, you can," the old man interrupted him firmly. "What have I ever given you, Severus? Other than a job you did not want, and a succession of not exactly thoughtful birthday presents? I forget at times that not everyone shares my affection for socks…" He smiled, but the ancient blue eyes had grown serious. "There are…regrets. It seems there were always more pressing concerns…You were so strong, and others were not – it was easy to just trust that you would somehow manage on your own, and you always did, but…there _are _regrets. I don't think I have ever even told you how dear you are to me, in all these years. There is so much you would have deserved that I never gave you, so many things I should have told you that I never said. I am sorry."

"You gave me enough," Severus said softly. "You gave me your trust."

"You have always had that. Ever since that day, so long ago, when you first returned to me. And no, I don't think that is nearly enough."

Severus swallowed, keeping his eyes on the watch, not trusting himself to speak. "I thank you," he finally said, his voice soft and hoarse.

For a moment there was silence. Then Dumbledore cleared his throat and pointed to the crown of the watch. "Open it."

As bidden, Severus pressed down on the small, spring-loaded button hidden in the crown, and with a soft click, the cover sprang open. Inside it was a simple inscription – "With love, Oct 3, 1892". Underneath, another date had been added in a different script – "April 9, 1999".

"I had to change the date, of course, but at least the sentiment still fits," the old wizard said with a smile.

As Severus watched, several hands moved around the old-fashioned face of the clock, which seemed to have a great many numbers and words on it. Several small windows on the face of the dial were empty at the moment, while another blinked the word "Wedding, tomorrow!" in bright purple letters. Severus lifted his eyes questioningly.

"Ah, yes. The clock itself." The twinkle had returned to Dumbledore's eyes. "It is charmed to not just tell time, moon cycles, daylight hours and such, but to remind you of anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's Day, and any other dates that might be important to your wife. Margaret, I fear, was only too aware of how preoccupied I can be on occasion, so she decided to take preemptive action." He looked at Severus with the hint of a wink. "If your Hannah is like most other women, this, my friend, will save you untold amounts of grief. It is, of course, still up to you to actually do something about the reminders. Flowers, I hear, are always appropriate…. But look at me, rambling on and on – all that to say that you have my best wishes as you set out into your new life. Though I have to admit that your leaving will be a deuced inconvenience – I do so hate having to find new staff."

Severus looked up sharply. "You know? How did you…?"

With a chuckle, Dumbledore shook his head. "You did not expect that to remain a secret, did you? While at the conference, the head of the Canadian Wizarding Federation – who will be one of your superiors at Bridgeport – couldn't stop himself from gloating that he had stolen away my most brilliant staff member from right under my nose."

"I would have told you after the wedding," Severus said uncomfortably. "I didn't…"

"Don't let it worry you," Dumbledore interrupted with a grin. "I really did not expect you to stay, you know." He closed the case back up, firmly pushing it into Severus' hand, and stood back up. "And now go back to your bride. And be happy."

.-.-.-.

In her quarters, Hannah, feeling the need for a fortifying cup of tea, had put the kettle on the stove. _The git,_ she thought with a smile. He really could have told her a little earlier. Surely he hadn't just right then decided to go through with the Binding. He and his sense for the dramatic….

She turned from where she was readying the teapot when he stepped out on the hearth. "Well? How'd it go?"

"He knows we will be leaving when the term is over."

"Oh dear." Hannah looked at him sympathetically. "Are we in trouble?"

Severus shook his head. "He said he expected us to leave."

Her eyebrows pulled together at the husky tone of his voice. Something had happened…. "Severus? What is it?"

"I…." He cleared his throat. "It's just…"

Walking over to him, she put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes questioningly. "Severus? Please tell me?" When he didn't answer, she pulled him closer, and he let her, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She held him close, waiting, stroking his back.

"It's nothing bad," she finally heard him say, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. "He just told me some things that I have…waited a long time to hear."

Relieved, she nodded, tightening the embrace. It was, in a sense, harder for him to hear someone speak well of him or pay him compliments than it was to take insults and abuse. He was much more used to the latter…

She held him tightly, yet again thankful that she had him to hold, that he was here, that he was hers, that he was alive and whole and well – at least almost well…. Brushing a kiss against the side of his face, she straightened up when she felt him shift his bodyweight to take pressure off his bad leg. "Do sit, love. You must be tired. I was just about to make some tea…" The kettle was whistling shrilly, demanding attention.

The fact that he didn't argue made her realize how tired he really must be. He was so determined that it was easy to forget that it had barely been seventy-two hours since he had been hurt so badly… While he sat down, his leg stretched out in front of him, she poured boiling water into the teapot.

"There was an owl waiting for me from my father's solicitor when I got back here," she said over her shoulder. "They want me to come in on Tuesday. Something to do with his will. It seems a waste of time to go all the way to London to find out I've been disinherited, but I guess the formalities have to be observed."

He looked at her with an impassive expression on his face. "What if you have not been disinherited? He may have died intestate."

Hannah shrugged. "What of it?"

"From what I understand," he said carefully, avoiding her eyes, "he was quite a wealthy man."

"And? Would that be a problem?" she said warily.

He looked back up at her with a slight smirk. "It's just that an inheritance of that size would…improve your prospects quite a bit. You might want to reconsider your options."

"Reconsider my options?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Never mind."

Hannah looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You mean as in 'hold out for a better match'?"

"As I said, never mind."

"Good grief, Severus," Hannah said affectionately. "Could you, in the name of Merlin, tell me how someone who might be inclined to overlook the fact that I'm a Squib once I'm a _rich _Squib would _ever_ be a better match??" She filled two mugs with tea, adding milk to one. "If it's all the same to you, I think we'll just proceed as planned."

Cradling her own mug, she settled down by his side, her feet tucked under her. Almost automatically, he lifted his arm so she could lean against him.

Reaching up, she lightly touched his cheek. "I told you before – you're 'it' for me."

He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand, a somewhat rueful smile on his face. "Sometimes I still wonder what you want with me."

In response, she just kissed his other cheek and then settled against him, her arm draped across his chest.

For a while they sat comfortably, quietly. As Severus sipped the hot tea, she could feel some of the tension drain away from him as he slowly relaxed. Finally, setting down the mug, he dug into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small package. "Dumbledore gave me this."

In a few sentences he told her the story of the watch. When he had finished, she found that she was crying yet again. "I didn't even know he ever had a wife..." Impatiently, she wiped the tears from her cheek in exasperation. "Merlin, I feel like I've been leaking like a tap all day. I'm such a sop. I just fervently hope all this crying means I'm getting the waterworks out of the way today, and that I'll be a picture of calm serenity tomorrow." She laughed shakily. "Not that I'm making any guarantees…" Carefully, she touched the watch with the tip of her finger. "But, Severus, this is such a precious gift…"

It was the kind of heirloom that would normally be handed down to a son, she thought as she ran her fingertip over the mellowed, aged gold of the watch, its edges polished smooth from wear. That Dumbledore had given it to Severus… She swallowed hard again. "He thinks a lot of you, doesn't he?"

Severus finally looked up, holding her gaze steadily. "He does. I do believe he does." And there was a sort of wonder in his eyes and in his voice that made her tear up yet again.

She laid her hands against the sides of his face, cupping it gently. About time, she thought as she kissed him, first the tip of his nose, then his mouth, that he realized that she wasn't the only person who thought he was wonderful…

She closed her eyes when he carefully put down the watch and then turned to her, kissing her back, pulling her closer… When finally, a few minutes later, he sat up and gently pushed her away, she was flushed and starry-eyed.

"I think I had better go now…" he said, his voice sounding stifled, as Hannah tucked the hair that had escaped from her pony tail back behind her ears and tried to catch her breath. As much as she hated to see him leave, she was forced to concur.

With some difficulty, he stood up from the sofa, dropping the small leather case with the watch back in his pocket as he limped over to the fireplace.

She walked with him, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "So this is it, then?" Once he left, she would not see him again until he met her at the door of the chapel. It was considered exceedingly unlucky for a groom to see the bride on the day of their wedding before the actual ceremony.

"This is it." He grasped her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair. "Until tomorrow?"

"Until tomorrow." She held on to his hand as he stepped into the fireplace, only at the last second reluctantly letting go. Sighing, she looked at the clock on the mantel as he disappeared in a flash of green flame. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

A/N: Two more chapters remaining… 

Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!


	56. I do

Around nine o'clock the next morning, Severus stood indecisively in front of the storage cabinet in his work room. What should he make? Something complicated enough to occupy his thoughts, to give him something – anything! – to think about other than the wedding; something time consuming enough to fill the morning, but not so long he wouldn't be able to finish….

He pulled out a few jars, then put them back, before finally making a decision.

_Limax Mortis _was an extraordinarily fiddly draught, but only took about three and a half hours to brew. It also had the distinction of being one of the most aesthetically pleasing concoctions in the potions catalogue: a silvery gray, with iridescent highlights in blue, purple, and green. And it wouldn't be a waste of time – Hagrid would be quite pleased to have it for the school's lettuce patch.

He smiled ruefully as he took the jars and bottles he would need out of the cabinet and arranged them on his work table. The potion brought back memories – when he had told Persephone Blakenhurst in their fourth year that her eyes were as beautiful as _Limax Mortis_, the results had not been remotely what he had hoped for.

By now he knew, of course, why it wasn't a good idea to compare a girl's eyes to Slug-Killing Potion, but at the time her reaction had been enough to put him off romantic similes for good. Hannah had never been spoiled with compliments….

As a concession to his leg, he transfigured a chair into a high bar stool that afforded him good access to the work surface, and picked up the knife.

Once he was able to call his time his own again, it might be interesting to teach Hannah some of the more practical aspects of potion brewing, he thought as he began to shred the barley husks.

She was doing well as far as the theory was concerned – she had upheld her end of the bargain and, after plugging gamely through several more Potions manuals, was beginning to have a firm grasp on the basics: why certain parts needed to be prepared certain ways, which properties of one substance enhanced the properties of another… He had been pleased at how quickly she had learned.

There was no reason why she couldn't next learn how to practically prepare and handle the ingredients.

As the steady motion of the pestle reduced the dung beetle wings to a glistening black powder, he thought he might even let her try her hand at preparing one or two of the simplest potions, those which depended more on the magical properties of the ingredients than the magic of the brewer. Even without magic of her own, the presence of a wizard in the room would provide enough of an aura for her to be able to manage something like a simple Calming Draught.

The thought brought a smile to his face – she would be so pleased to actually participate hands-on in something that was part of the magical world.

His pestle stopped mid-movement. What was _she_ doing now? Did the morning seem as interminably long to her as it did to him?

He put down the pestle, and let his hand slip to the small box in his pocket. He pulled it out, opened it, and stared at the golden band inside. In just a few hours, this small ring would swallow up his old life, would irrevocably make everything different… Oh Merlin, this was not going to do. He firmly snapped the box shut and resolutely turned his thoughts back to measuring, dicing, and shredding.

.-.-.

Just after noon, he put the last stopper in the bottled potion, standing back for a moment to admire the row of glistening flasks lined up like toy soldiers along the wall. One of the things he liked most about brewing was that you actually had something to show for your time at the end of the day – unlike teaching, where the rewards were much more intangible and the results of your labors hard to judge.

He carefully pulled the headmaster's watch out of his pocket. The window in the middle blinked "WEDDING!! 2 HRS 48 MIN!!" in a violent shade of fuchsia. With a sigh, he snapped the top shut. He would be glad when this day was over.

.-.-.-.

At the Burrow, Molly Weasley, dressed in her Sunday best, set down a platter of sandwiches next to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were playing a game of Exploding Snap in the living room. "…Now, there's a meat pie in the fridge, all you have to do is heat it up. Don't forget to turn off the oven when you've finished. I don't imagine we'll get back too late, but in case we do, make sure to feed Pig and Errol. And…"

"We got it, Mum," Ron interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Really, we can handle it."

"And don't forget, you promised to…"

"…to weed the spinach patch, I know, I know," Ron said in exasperation. "We'll do it. You and Dad go and have fun."

As Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the room, Harry put down a card with a shake of his head. "I still can't believe Snape's getting married."

"Yeah – thought I'd see Fred and George join a nunnery before I'd see that," Ron said with a grin.

"Men can't join a nunnery," Hermione said waspishly.

"_Whatever."_ Ron turned to Harry. "So what d'you think – the Imperius Curse?"

"Aw, come on, he teaches Potions," Harry said with a smirk. "I bet he slipped some Amortentia in her tea or something."

"You know," Hermione said, dealing everyone a new round of cards, "it's possible she's actually in love with him."

Both the boys broke out into guffaws.

"In love with him? With Snape?" Harry gave an exaggerated shudder. "I mean, can you imagine?_ Snape_?"

"I suppose you're right," Hermione said in a deceptively mild voice. "Falling in love with someone like Snape – what a silly idea. Someone brave and selfless enough to throw himself in the way of a deadly curse to save some ungrateful brat and his friends. What _could _I have been thinking."

Harry had the good grace to look embarrassed for at least a moment. "Well, uh, yes, of course he did… I guess he does have his, uh, good points… But…" He grinned at Ron. "But still, you have to admit…the idea of Snape…well, you know, _snogging_ anyone…"

"I wonder how he manages," Ron interrupted. "With that enormous nose of his and all."

"Huh. I didn't think that'd be that hard to figure out. Not for you, anyway." Hermione stood up, smiling sweetly at Ron, eyes narrowed. "It's not like yours is all that much smaller, you know. Now, if you'll excuse me — " she threw down her cards, which promptly exploded, showering the boys with bits of soot and ashes, "– I have some letters to write. Or something."

Touching his nose self-consciously as Hermione tossed back her hair and strode out the room, Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry. "Whatever's got into _her_?" he asked in an injured tone of voice. "We were just having a bit of _fun_…"

Harry shoved a triangle of sandwich in his mouth and shrugged. "Dunno." He chewed and swallowed. "Never mind her. She'll cool down soon enough. Always does." He pointed at the cards in Ron's hand. "Your turn."

.-.-.-.

"Saeran, we really haven't time for this," Anwyn said, tapping the toe of her shoe against the wooden floor. "I wish you'd leave the crying until the actual wedding."

Saeran, sitting at the kitchen table, wiped her eyes with her already damp handkerchief. "I'm sorry. It's just… Well, I really didn't think this day would ever come."

"Neither did I," Anwyn said bluntly. It hadn't been that long since she herself hadn't held a much higher opinion of her nephew than the rest of the Wizarding world. "And I'm as glad as you are that we were wrong, but really, we've got to get going."

They had spent the morning putting the finishing touches on the cake. It had turned out quite nicely, if she did say so herself. Four of Hogwarts' house-elves had come just a few minutes ago to take it away. House-elf magic did come in handy at times – Apparating the three-tier cake to Hogwarts would have been quite tricky, even_ if_ they could have Apparated closer than just the main gate. "Oh, really, this is _quite _enough. Pull yourself together. Your future daughter-in-law is waiting."

In the absence of any female relatives on Hannah's side – her own aunt, bedridden with a difficult pregnancy, had owled her regrets – they had offered to speak the bridal charms over her and help her get ready. Anwyn had got the distinct impression Severus had been rather glad to know the two of them would be gainfully occupied in a way that kept them out of his hair.

"I know. It's just…" She blew her nose and smiled a quavering smile up at her sister. "They do suit, don't you think?"

"Yes, yes, they're utterly perfect for each other, and it'll be a beautiful wedding, and they'll live happily ever after. Now _please _can we go?"

"All right, all right." Saeran pushed back her chair and stood up resignedly. "Let me just powder my nose, and we'll be off."

.-.-.-.

Remus Lupin ran a hand over the heavy fabric of his new dress robes – he wouldn't have wanted to go to Severus' wedding in the ragged mess that had until recently passed for his special occasion wear – and allowed himself one small moment of pure, unmitigated envy.

He was happy for Severus. Really, he was.

But the fact that it was _Severus Snape_ getting married today drove home his own unattached status with painful immediacy. So Snape had found a woman who had managed to look beyond the greasy-haired exterior and a Death Eater past and find something to love.

Not anything at all surprising there – he himself had come to rather appreciate Severus' qualities over the last few years.

It was just that there had been a short time when he had fleetingly hoped…

He sighed and firmly quashed the thought. He would go to Severus' wedding and wish him happiness and mean every word. The man deserved whatever good thing came to him.

And if nothing else, today at least showed that there was still hope. If Severus could find himself a bride, maybe somewhere out there, there was a woman who could look past his own … "furry problem" and assorted flaws. Not that he, stuck at Hogwarts for most of the year, would have much of a chance of meeting her even_ if_ she was out there.

All that was left then, Remus thought with a wry twist of the mouth, was to pray that Dumbledore would hire another English instructor next year. Preferably one under seventy and without a moustache.

After all, a wizard could hope.

.-.-.-.-.

In his quarters, Filius Flitwick sat on the sofa, a snifter of cognac in front of him and a rather smug smile on his face.

When Hannah had sent him that letter last year telling him that she would be spending several weeks in St. Comgan, the very place Severus had just announced he would be spending _his_ holidays, he had taken it as a sign. In a place that small, they were bound to run into each other sooner or later. Not that he'd held out much hope that it would lead to anything even if they did, not with the history between Severus and Frank Hannigan. But he figured it wouldn't hurt to at least give Hannah a fighting chance to make an impression…

It hadn't been an at all difficult thing to cast a surreptitious Steer-Me Charm on Severus, keyed towards a certain brown-haired English teacher.

Oh, it hadn't been anything strong, mind you, just a very mild bit of – insurance. To make sure that Severus would not immediately run the other direction when they _did_ run into each other. Nothing more.

After that, it had been up to them. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

He smiled primly. Well, he supposed that, technically, you _could_ – but it wasn't at _all_ a nice thing to do.

He had strenuously stopped himself from interfering after that. Except for going to see Dumbledore and telling him that he knew the perfect candidate to fill the Composition teacher position, but he would have done that anyway, of course. He'd known Hannah would give her right arm to be part of the magical world again. So, really, you couldn't call _that_ interfering.

He raised his glass. "Health, happiness, and a long life." They hadn't made it easy for each other, those two. For a while he had despaired that they would ever make a go of it, but as they say – all's well that ends well. And all had ended very well. Or would, in just an hour.

.-.-.-.

Severus eyed his reflection in the mirror critically. It could be worse. His robe was more than a decade old, but it was cut well and made of good material, and luckily fashions for wizards were much less volatile than fashions for witches. It would do well enough. His teeth were hopeless, of course, but at least his hair was, for the moment, passable.

He glared at the baby-blue bottle that had arrived via owl early this morning, accompanied by a short, handwritten note.

_Dear Severus, _

_Rinse, lather, repeat._

_Can't wait until this afternoon. So happy for you._

_Your loving aunt, _

_Anwyn_

Leave it to Anwyn to give him _that _for a wedding present.

_Bernie Bluett's Grease-B-Gone Shampoo_. Bernie Bluett, who had been one of the first N.E.W.T. students he had taught, as well as one of the dullest. Who still had been bright enough to enhance Muggle shampoo with a simple cleaning potion and market it to the wizarding world. And who had consequently raked in the Galleons by the bucket. While he, Severus, still labored in obscurity, teaching ungrateful students a difficult subject.

Well, it might come as a surprise to his aunt, but he actually _did _own a bottle of the stuff. Not that it made any difference. No matter what he did, his hair always looked oily again within a few hours, and delaying his shower until late in the day had been the only way of ensuring that he would look at least semi-presentable for the wedding.

And presentable he looked, or at least as presentable as he would ever be. Time to go, then.

.-.-.

When he arrived at the Room of Requirement, the door was propped open. Severus took a deep breath as he stepped through. The headmaster had not exaggerated – the castle had delivered spectacularly. Suffused light from the stained glass rosette above the altar streamed in colored beams against the heavy flagstone floor. A carpet, woven in muted reds, greens, and ochres, ran up the center aisle, lined on each side with well-worn pews of dark, polished oak. The altar itself, adorned with fat white candles in brass candlesticks and an arrangement of flowers, was covered with a simple linen cloth. Even the flowers had been chosen carefully, Severus noted with approval. Myrtle and white roses for love, hawthorn for hope, iris for faith.

"I have the prefects guarding the corridors to this room," Dumbledore said, lighting the candles with a backward flick of his wand as he walked towards him. "I thought it would be a wise precaution. We don't want a gaggle of students listening in during the ceremony."

Severus nodded. He wholeheartedly concurred.

The headmaster picked a piece of folded cloth up from the small table by the door that also held a quill, ink well and guest book, and held it up for Severus' perusal. "A gift from the house-elves. Gwinny just delivered it."

The white cloth was lavishly embroidered with every symbol remotely applicable to marriage that the elves had been able to think of – roses, hearts, Celtic knots, jasmine, apples, runes, rings, maple leaves, _cupids_… He didn't know whether to groan or smile.

Dumbledore neatly folded the cloth back up and replaced it on the table. "We can wait back here." He nodded to where two chairs were pushed back into a small recess in the back corner. "Do you have your ring?"

"I do," he said, fishing the box out of his pocket and handing it to the headmaster as he sat down. "You have Hannah's?" Normally, as the groom, he would have been in charge of keeping both the rings, but Hannah had been reluctant to give hers up any sooner than was absolutely necessary.

"Yes. I stopped by her quarters before coming here." Dumbledore pulled her ring out of his pocket and added it to the box that held Severus'. "Quite a commotion, that place. Your mother and your aunt were there, as well as Filia Flitwick, and just as I was leaving, Pomona Sprout arrived – apparently she put herself in charge of the flowers." He pointed to the bouquets on the altar. "Those are her work as well, I believe." The headmaster shook his head. "I do feel quite grateful that apparently for once she managed to stay away from the Venomous Tentacula and the Fanged Geranium."

Within a few minutes, the guests started arriving. Minerva and Filius, the witnesses, sat down in the front row. Binns smiling his usual pleasant and vacant expression, drifted into the back pew. Madam Pomfrey came in together with Madam Pince, followed closely by Sybil Trelawney. He watched as each of the guests signed their names, and then briefly touched the tip of their wands to the square of cloth.

Madam Hooch, carrying a broom, chatted amicably with Madam Vector. Stella Sinistra gave him an encouraging smile as she entered, firmly guiding Nettie Nequam by the elbow. Molly and Arthur Weasley waved and beamed enthusiastically at Severus before taking up seats on the groom's side of the chapel.

Severus turned sharply to Dumbledore. "Refresh my memory," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "but if I recall correctly, the Weasleys are _not_ on staff at this school."

"Well, I…" Dumbledore looked slightly uncomfortable. "Don't be angry, but I've taken the liberty of inviting a few of the old crowd. After all the hardship we've gone through together, it seems only fitting to let them share in the moments of joy, as well."

"How many?" Lips a thin white line, Severus let his eyes roam over the room. He should have noticed that the chapel seemed too large for the few guests they had invited.

"Not many at all. Just some of those who have known you the longest. Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones – she's a distant relation of yours, did you know? – Aberforth, Arabella, Tonks, the Weasleys – not all of them, of course, as you can see. Just Molly and Arthur. It shouldn't be more than twenty or so in all."

Snape didn't trust himself to speak. This was _his_ wedding. What right did Dumbledore have to…

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. What was done was done. With an effort, he made himself think of the watch in his pocket and the speech that had accompanied the gifting of it. He was sure the old man had meant well. He generally did. No use crying over spilled potion.

He watched as more and more guests trickled in. Tonks, Vance, and Jones all came in together. Hagrid, too large to fit into any of the pews, leaned against the back wall. The gamekeeper had decided to dress up for the occasion and looked positively ghastly. Remus Lupin arrived at the same time as a tiny, wrinkled, pink-cheeked witch who had to be Flitwick's sister. Arabella Figg, Madam Sprout, Argus Filch, accompanied, as always, by his cat…

Slowly, the pews filled.

Finally, right on the hour, his mother and Anwyn hurried in. At an encouraging nod from Dumbledore, he rose from his seat. Somewhere up in the choir, a bodhran started beating, slowly and solemnly.

Three o'clock. Time to start.

Severus took a deep breath. With measured steps, feeling the eyes of the assembled congregation following him, he walked to the open door of the chapel. And stopped. And waited.

As the minutes ticked away, he felt himself get unaccountably anxious. He knew Hannah was _supposed_ to be fashionably late. There was nothing to worry about. This was _planned_.

And yet, the thought _would_ steal into his head – what if she _didn't_ come?

He squelched the idea ruthlessly. This was ridiculous. He knew her too well. She would never…

He exhaled a breath of relief when, right then, he saw her turn the corner.

His heart pounding, he watched as she walked towards him. The willow green gown she was wearing… Anwyn was right, the dress was perfect for her. Now that he had seen her, he couldn't imagine her in anything else. Her hair had been artistically arranged, partly swept up in a complicated weave, the rest falling down her back in gleaming curls. She wasn't wearing a veil. Instead, a wreath of small white flowers circled her head - a lovely, old-fashioned touch that suited her well. She was carrying a bouquet of red and white roses. Her eyes looked larger and darker than usual – she did not customarily wear make-up, but today something had been done to her eyes, and her cheeks, and her eyebrows, and her mouth…

She was beautiful. Beautiful, and utterly foreign to the pony-tailed, never quite put together woman he had fallen in love with. This was someone he didn't know. For a second, he felt a surge of panic. Which died away immediately at the shaky smile that lit up her face as she came towards him. That smile, he recognized.

"You look lovely," he whispered, as he offered her his arm.

"Do you really think so? Oh, I am glad," she whispered back, a quiver in her voice. "Are you as nervous as I am?"

He gave her quick smile. "Quite. Shall we?"

Taking a deep breath, Hannah smiled back. "Let's."

Slowly, in time with the beat of the drum, they made their way through the door and up to the dais in front of the altar, where Dumbledore stood waiting. Severus, walking stiffly and straight-backed, with just the slightest hint of a limp remaining, again was uncomfortably aware of all the eyes following their every step up the aisle.

When they reached the front, the steady beating of the drum ceased. For an endless moment, there was silence, except for the shuffling of feet and the shifting of bodies in the pews. He felt Hannah's hold on his arm tighten.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and took a step forward.

"Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to witness the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony." The headmaster's eyes traveled across the room as he smiled at the many familiar faces. "We are here to celebrate the fact that Hannah and Severus have found that they can walk more easily through life while holding on to each other, while touching each other's hand. We are here to witness their first step on that journey.

"As many of you know, the road that brought them to this place has been a long and broken one, a road filled with hardship and disappointment. But that road has led them here, to this day and to each other. _Ex tenebris, lux_."

His voice lowered as he addressed his words directly to the couple in front of him. "Today, in front of this congregation, in front of witnesses both visible and invisible, you will commit to each other for the remainder of your natural lives. It is not a commitment you have entered into carelessly or with closed eyes. I know neither of you will take lightly the responsibilities of marriage." He looked back up at the congregation. "If anyone here knows of a reason why these two should not be united in marriage, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

After a moment of silence, he smiled at them, a twinkle in his eyes. "This, I suppose, is the time when I am meant to look at my vast life experience and bestow upon you a treasury of clever and sage advice for your married life. I _could_ make a long and tedious speech about not going to bed angry, of cultivating the art of conversation, of being generous with each other, and of the importance of replacing empty toilet paper rolls. But I am not going to do that.

"You both know that you will encounter bumps in the road. You know that there will be times when you will hardly be able to stand being in the same room with one another, and other times when you will fall in love all over again with this remarkable person you are marrying today. Neither am I worried that you will take each other for granted. You both know full well the gift you have been given. Whatever obstacle or blessing awaits you, I feel confident that the two of you will muddle through just fine.

"So if you don't mind, I am going to skip right ahead to the important part of the ceremony. Please turn and face each other."

As Anwyn dashed forward to take Hannah's flowers from her, Severus held out his hands to his bride. Her eyes shone as she placed her hands in his. The nervousness that had been there earlier seemed to have melted away. She looked calm now, calm and confident.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother approaching – she had retrieved the cloth from the table by the entrance. For a moment, he saw Hannah's expression waver. He gave her hands a soft squeeze – normally, this part of the ceremony was performed by both the mothers together.

At a nod from Dumbledore, Saeran shook out the cloth and draped it solemnly over their joined hands. He felt his skin tingle with the magic of the spells and charms for health, protection, and good luck that now permeated the fabric.

Saeran lifted her wand and added the final charm to those of the guests before looking up at her son and her daughter-in-law. "As you go forward into married life, you go with the approval of your family and friends. We celebrate with you the bond you are forging today. You have our blessing and our love."

As his mother folded the cloth back up, Severus looked into Hannah's eyes with a half smirk and watched her blush. As was tradition, Saeran would later give them the cloth to put under the sheets on their wedding night.

Dumbledore took a step forward. "Are you then ready to make your vows?"

"We are." Their voices came softly, in unison.

"Do you, Severus Snape, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love, honor, and comfort, forsaking all others and being faithful only to her, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." For a moment, he felt as if he had stepped into another reality and was watching some other Severus getting married to some other Hannah. It seemed…surreal. Like a scene from a dream.

In the back of the church, he heard Hagrid blowing loudly into his handkerchief.

"Do you, Hannah Hannigan, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love, honor, and comfort him, forsaking all others and being faithful only to him, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." Her voice came steady and sure.

The headmaster pulled the box with the rings out of the pocket of his robe. "You have chosen to give these rings to each other as a symbol of the bond between you. Severus?"

He took the ring from Albus, and for the last time (he fervently hoped) slid it on Hannah's finger. "In token and pledge of the vow I have made, with this ring I thee wed."

A moment later, he heard Hannah repeat the same words as she slid the wedding band on his finger, and again was caught up in the strangeness of the scene. If a year ago someone would have told him that this was where he would be today…

"Then remains the Binding. Will you please kneel?"

Shocked back into reality, Severus felt himself flash cold. Somehow, when they had gone over the ceremony, this detail had not registered. His leg was by now quite strong enough for walking, but kneeling and then standing up again was quite a different matter….

A split second later, he saw recognition flash across Dumbledore's face. A barely noticeable twitch of the old man's wand tip, and Severus felt himself grow nearly weightless. Without his bodyweight to support, it was an easy thing to lower himself to the kneeling position.

He felt his heart speed up as he looked into Hannah's eyes, the light from the stained glass window dancing across her face. At Dumbledore's nod, he held up his left hand, and Hannah put hers against his, palm to palm, at a slight angle, so that their rings touched. The two witnesses, faces solemn, took their places at the headmaster's sides and pulled out their wands.

Minerva went first, her wand tip drawing fiery lines in the air – Berkana, the rune of new beginnings. "Now you are two people, but from this moment, there will be but one life between you." The rune hung brightly in the air for a moment, glistening with golden-green light, before the lines dissolved, trickling down in faint phosphorescence as the glow twisted itself around their joined hands.

Filius' turn: Gebo, the rune of partnership. "From now on, you will be each other's companion. You will feel no cold, because you will be to each other shelter and warmth." The light around their hands grew brighter as the rune dissolved into shimmering ribbons.

Last, Dumbledore: Wunjo, the rune of joy. "From now on, you will take joy in one another. You will hold each other's heart and happiness in your hand."

The light intensified, swirling ever faster in glowing spirals, tendrils starting to snake out, slowly moving up their arms.

Three voices spoke together. "According to your wish, we Bind you, heart to heart, mind to mind, body to body, soul to soul; ancient magic, ancient mystery, ancient power. From this moment on, two will be one."

Severus' heart beat a harried staccato as he watched the light move towards him. In a moment, the Binding would be completed, their souls would intertwine. What would she feel when his soul touched hers? His soul, which not even the Dementors had wanted? He did not think he could bear it if she flinched…

The light enveloped them both, and then he could feel her, taste her, sense the essence of her, as her soul and his mixed and mingled. Exhaling sharply, he closed his eyes. This was…wonderful. As the spell knit them together, he allowed himself to relax, to enjoy the moment. His fears evaporated like fog in the sunlight. There was no doubt now that this was right. He could feel her inviting him in, like the opening of a door to warmth and welcome. It felt like touching solid ground after years at sea. It felt like coming home.

For a minute that seemed like an eternity, the light held them, and then slowly began to ebb. It was with regret he felt her presence inside of him recede, leaving only a faint imprint of her touch.

He opened his eyes to see that Hannah was smiling, her eyes still closed, head slightly tilted back, a tear slipping down her cheek. She looked happy – impossibly happy. It gave him a sharp, sweet pang to think that it was being Bound to him that could put that look on her face…

Dumbledore nodded at the witnesses, and Minerva and Filius took a step back.

"You may rise." Dumbledore watched, misty eyed and smiling, as they rose to their feet. Severus felt the weight of his body slowly returning once he was upright again.

"Then remains only one thing." The old wizard drew himself up to his full height. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Severus, you may kiss your bride."

At the few weddings he had been to, this had been his least favorite part. It had always seemed contrived, a meaningless display for the entertainment of the guests.

It did not feel like that now.

She had raised her face in anticipation, that same quiet joy still radiating from her, and he bent down, cupping her face with both hands. He had kissed her before, many times, but this – this was different. This was the first time that he kissed his _wife_. As he felt her lips part slightly beneath his, soft, warm, and welcoming, there was a sense of newness, of beginning. It felt like kissing her for the first time all over again.

Dumbledore cleared his throat as he faced the audience. "If you all will stand – it is now my great pleasure to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Severus Snape."

The applause that had begun in smatterings when they had kissed grew louder and louder as Severus took Hannah's hand and turned to face the congregation. More than one of the guests was blowing his or her nose; others were clapping wildly; all of them were smiling. Severus' chest ached with a sudden sense of belonging as he looked at the upturned faces of the people in the room, these people whom he had known for years, whom he had lived with, fought with, fought for. Colleagues. Comrades. Friends.

He helped Hannah down from the dais, and together they were slowly walking back down the aisle, showers of sparks in all colors of the rainbow shooting from the wands of those present, raining down around them like firefly confetti, when there was a sudden shout from the back.

"Wait! You're not done yet!" Rolanda Hooch, carrying her broom, pushed her way up the aisle. "It's tradition!"

She plopped down the broom on the floor in front of them. At a flick of Flitwick's wand, it rose, hovering horizontally a couple of inches above the ground.

Hannah looked up at him, eyes laughing. "Are you ready, my husband?"

And it was at that point that it became real to him. He was a husband now. She was his wife. He looked at the broom and saw a line that was both start and finish, a divider firmly putting paid to forty years of loneliness and misery, a two-inch-wide no man's land between what had been and what would be.

Taking a deep breath, he smiled at his wife. "I believe I am." Balancing on his good leg, he grasped her hand more firmly, and on the count of three, they jumped the broom, together, into a new life.

* * *

A/N: 

Reviews make my day!

You don't know how strange a feeling it is to click the "complete" button on the story after spending more than two years working on it!

A big thanks to everyone who has been on this journey with me, reading and commenting, and especially to my wonderful betas -- Bellegeste, lalaluu, and Verity Brown. If you haven't read their stories, please give them a go! An extra thank-you to Lisa and Roberta for their steady support and the occasional (much appreciated) kick in the pants. :-)

Much love,

Cecelle


End file.
